


The Fever

by ourultraviolence



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Far West, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Far West, Gold Rush, Historical, Obsession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-07-17 23:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourultraviolence/pseuds/ourultraviolence
Summary: Hermione, Ron and Harry are on the run after stealing horses from the Malfoy. They are chased across the United States by a bounty hunter and his partners, famous for his violence and bloodlust, Voldemort and the Death Eaters. They follow the road of the Gold Rush but make some unfortunate encounters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I am finally trying to write fanfiction. This is my first work, I would love to get feedback in order to better my writing, and my knowledge of the Far West. English is not my mother-tongue so I apologize for any mistakes, do not hesitate to remark them !
> 
> Anyway, I have just watched Godless and Sisters Brothers, so... yay Far West ! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy !
> 
> And no, this will not be a one-shot, I just don't know how to change the appearance of the chapter counter so...

Hermione was soaked. The rain had gone through her wool coat and the rest of her clothes. She could feel the water on her skin. Her hair was at least tamed now that it was wet. But she knew it would not last long. So she continued to run through the forest, trying to see where she was going despite the torrents of rain pouring down.

 

"Harry ! Ronald !" Her screams were almost inaudible, lost in the roaring thunderstorm.

 

She knew they should have stayed together. The wilderness was dangerous, especially because help could rarely be found. They were far from any major towns and far from any road. If the Gold Rush helped populating the West Coast, it did not much for demography in the middle of this vast land, really a continent in the eyes of Hermione who was doubting they would ever arrive to their final destination, San Francisco.

 

She tripped on a root and fell quite inelegantly, although who could blame her, in wet leaves. She sat panting heavily. She was lost, and they were probably too. They were trying to seek a ranch to get food, leaving her to protect the stolen, branded, horses, when the storm had come on her. They must not have been very far when it started to rain as they had only been gone for half an hour. And yet, trying to find them, she had only managed to lose herself, and in turn, the horses.

 

Trying not to panic, she stood up and leaned against a large tree. She was not really protected from the downpour but at least she could see her immediate surroundings. Trees, well, that was not very useful.

 

She decided to turn around. She was afraid she could lose herself even more but at this point it could not get much worse. So Hermione located the root, which had tripped her and then the pile of wet leaves. From there, she only had to go in the opposite direction. She began to walk, staying attentive to any sign of movement, which could indicate her the location of the horses.

 

The adrenaline that had fuelled her run was quickly coming back down. She began to shiver uncontrollably. The rain was cold and her soaked clothes did nothing to keep her warm. She took off her coat, putting it over her head. She ran her hands up and down her arms to try to infuse warmth back into her body. Her chest felt like ice. She kept on walking while rubbing her chest with more energy. It was slowly working, but still no sign of the horses. She could not keep going on for long.

 

Hermione noticed that it was getting colder. But she knew it was only a sign from her body, telling her to let it heat back. She walked, not relenting. If she sat down, she would probably have a hard time standing up. She was not going to die in a forest, during a thunderstorm for fuck's sake. She was smarter than that. Although apparently not smart enough not to run without precise knowledge of the terrain when it started raining like the damn Flood.

 

Finally, she saw movement. Unconsciously, she started to move faster, uncaring of her hurting feet. And here they were, the horses. She sighed in relief and hugged them, relinquishing in their warmth.

 

Letting go of her initial respite, she started to think. She needed to get her body heat back up, fast. She quickly took off her bodice and her shirt, enveloping herself in her wool coat. She then got under the fattest of the three horses, getting her covered back in contact with the animal's belly. Immediately, she felt a quiet warmth suffusing her back.

 

She sighed, silently thanking Claudius, the horse that she was currently under. Indeed, Hermione prided herself on her knowledge and well, she wanted to share it with her two best friends. So, she had named their three horses from three Roman emperors : Claudius, Hadrian and Julius. She rode Hadrian as he was swift and short-tempered so, as Ronald had so subtly remarked, just like her.

 

She hoped her two best friends were okay and that they would find her quickly when the rain will have stopped. She sighed, imagining them stuck under some tree, waiting for the downpour to be over, worrying over her.

 

Her long black hair that was usually maddeningly curly was sticking to her wet skin. It would probably triple in volume once it got dry again. She had to thank her mother for her lion mane.

 

She closed her eyes, slowly dozing off to the regular sound of Claudius's breathing. She would wait for the rain to subside and then she would look for her boys again. God she sounded like the great Molly herself... She chuckled and curled up even tighter, letting herself falling asleep, surrounded by water.

 

* * *

 

 

Ron was pissed off. He had not wanted to go look for food and of course, his first instinct had been right. They were now jailed by a thunderstorm, keeping them from going back to where Hermione was waiting with the horses, as well as keeping them from asking for help in a ranch. They should really stop to listen to Harry's plans.

 

"Told you there was no point in going" he grumbled, "now we're fucking lost and Hermione is alone in this fucking endless forest and she will probably -"

 

"Deal with this very rationally and be fine" ended Harry with a small smile.

 

"Do not let me keep you from being wrong again ! Assume things !"

 

Harry smiled again and chuckled. He did not doubt Hermione would handle the rain without batting an eye. Ron was more problematic because he did not like to stay immobile for too long.

 

"What time do you think it is ?" asked the red-head, glancing at the invisible sky.

 

"Well, night time, probably like midnight ?"

 

They both stared at the falling rain, trying to distinguish anything in the heavy mass of water. Ron shivered.

 

"Hope she has managed to stay dry, it is fucking cold and we are only in September..."

 

"I'm sure she has. But we should get closer in order to stay warm, we are not dry at all !"

 

Ron did not react to the tentative humour of his friend but got closer to him.

 

"D'you think we should try to sleep ?" he asked.

 

"Yeah, can't hurt and might need it."

 

They both sat down, still leaning against the trunk of a large tree, still close to each other. They were used to sleeping in hard conditions and this was not new so they got into a position where they could give each other some of their warmth. They slowly dozed off, thinking of nothing but their survival.

  

* * *

 

 

When Hermione woke, it was still raining, but the downpour was not as intense as it had been before, it was almost like a drizzle. She still felt the confortable heat of the horse's belly on her back. She slowly stood up, stretching, bones cracking. She started to go around the horses tending to their care when she heard a noise. She froze.

 

She knew that sound. It was the sound of a pistol, when you were about to fire it. The sound came from behind her back. She was facing the three horses, two of which were looking at something, or rather someone, behind her. And apparently a hell lot taller.

 

"Well, what do we have here ?"

 

She stayed frozen. The voice was pleasant and yet cutting. It was deep but terribly cold. Slowly, she raised her hands and turned around.

 

A tall man was facing her. He was pointing his pistol at her. So she had recognised the sound right. She quickly glanced at his face. He was handsome in a pale, gothic way, with sharp cheekbones and unforgiving grey eyes. His black hair was slightly curled and seemed dry. She frowned. He must have had a shelter during the peak of the thunderstorm. His cloak was also dry.

 

"You are a dripping mess my dear" he drawled, with a slight smirk.

 

His eyes scanned her face before going down and she noticed the way his eyebrow shot up. It was at this exact moment that Hermione realized she was naked under her cloak apart from her trousers. Her cloak was barely open but still, the skin she had on display was more than what was considered proper.

 

"Well, I have this tendency to get wet when it rains, crazy isn't it ?" she bit back, tightening the cloak around her.

 

His smile did not leave, and yet, she felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. She felt stupid. He was pointing a pistol at her and she still had not enough sense, not to be provoking. She tensed.

 

"You realize I'm pointing my pistol at you right ?"

 

She frowned, his sarcastic retort was tickling her to answer with a quip of her own. She bit her tongue to prevent herself to say something she would later regret.

 

"Can I help you with something ?" she calmly asked. Better to ask him why he was here in the first place, she had to get rid of him. And of his pistol. Or at least not have it threatening her.

 

"In fact, you can !" His smirk morphed into a big smile, reminding her of the lions in her children books. It was not a kind smile, it was predatory.

 

"Do tell."

 

"I am looking for three stolen horses."

 

She tried not to show any kind of reaction. She should have known the Malfoy would send someone. How could they take lightly to have three of their best horses stolen ? Even though they had many more...

 

"Well I'll be sure to look out for them" she smiled, though she knew it probably showed it was false.

 

"You see," he continued apparently not caring about her answer, "they are very easy to recognize. They're branded." His eyes were feral, glinting as the drizzle finally stop, letting the sun show its rays timidly.

 

"I'll know what to look for then," as she spoke, she got slowly closer to the horses, never taking her eyes of the man and his weapon.

 

"Alas, it is not only about the horses, my employers also want me to bring back to them the stealers."

 

Fuck this was bad. They would probably be hanged. Mercy was quite an unlikely reaction from the Malfoy.

 

"Really ?" Her back collided gently with one of the horses. She could make out from the corner of her eyes that it was Titus.

 

"Yes" he drawled. "And I can't help but wonder, what a young woman like yourself is doing all by herself in the middle of the forest with three horses ? Especially since I'm looking for a trio, and you share an uncanny resemblance to the woman of said trio."

 

His looked turned playful as though he was just toying with her. Her fear must have shown. She nonetheless tried to keep her composure.

 

"The world is full of coincidences, marvellous isn't it ?"

 

He barked out a little laugh.

 

"Could you stop pointing your weapon at me ? It is rather bothersome."

 

"Well my dear, I could, but I've seen the brand on the horses, I'm looking for three persons, and you're one of them." His tone was emotionless, his face now devoid of any sign of humanity. "I'm not letting you go that easily."

 

"I don't see what you're talking about I've never sto-"

 

"Please," he sighed, "do not give me the usual speech, a less efficient bounty hunter would know you were part of this so called 'Golden Trio'."

 

She knew she only had one question to ask.

 

"Alive or dead ?" she breathed out, not hiding her trembling anymore.

 

"Well dearest, you'll find that out when the boys with you show up," he smiled, "I dare hope they did not leave you to rot there."

 

She shut up, not taking up his bait. His silence was telling, dead. He was probably waiting for the boys in order to make them watch each other's death. Although she had gone without food for two days, her stomach gave tremors at the thought of witnessing the deaths of Harry and Ronald.

 

"Now kneel, and do not make a fuss," he said getting closer.

 

Hermione did not. She knew she was risking her life but she was almost sure he would not sure until Harry and Ronald came back. So she stood her ground, lowering her hands, glaring at the bounty hunter.

 

"No." Her voice was steadier than she thought it would be, making her secretly proud.

 

He had gotten closer so she had to look up to see his eyes. He was much taller than her, but then, she had always known she was quite short, even though her hair sometimes gave her a few more inches.

 

His eyes narrowed as though he was sizing her up. She made not much of a threat to him. He was tall and lean, probably muscular; he was after all, a bounty hunter.

 

"You do know I won't hesitate to force you to comply ?"

 

She narrowed her eyes in return. Physical violence would only make her body comply. Her will would remain a force to be reckoned with. Her determination made the fear tamer, easier to push back. Kneeling would put her in greater danger; it was harder to start running from a kneeling position.

 

"So what ?" she bit back venomous.

 

She could swear her eyes had visibly darkened at her answer, his mouth twitching when the sound of a snapping branch broke the tension. They both immediately started to look around for the source of the noise.

 

"Fuck" he grumbled under his breath still looking out for the cause of the sound.

 

Hermione was the first to see Ronald running into the clearing, armed with what looked like a large branch. The man turned just in time to see the redhead charging, before he was hit with the branch in the stomach. He immediately brought his hand to his stomach, trying to steady his breathing. But Harry joined Ron and quickly knocked him unconscious with a branch of his own.

 

"Thank you !" breathed out Hermione in relief, almost letting a few tears of fear falling. She quickly went to hug her two boys. After Ronald questioned her to see if she was hurt, she told them about the encounter with the man, still unconscious at their feet.

 

"We need to move," she said, "fast. If this man was on our trail, there may be others."

 

"I agree," nodded Harry. "Anyway we can't take the risk to believe there aren't. What should we do to blur the trail ?"

 

"I don't know," sighed Hermione, "we've already avoided the roads, what else is there really to do ?"

 

Ronald glanced at the forest around them, "we could go north."

 

"What for ? We're going to San Francisco."

 

"I know Harry but they don't know that. For all they know we could be heading for Mexico or some other place !"

 

"That's true !" whispered Hermione excitedly. "We have to get them off our scent !"

 

"Exactly 'Mione, so we need to go in a direction which is not the one we're heading for, for example north !" smiled Ron, his eyes shining with the idea of having found the solution to their life-threatening problem.

 

"It's brilliant Ronald !" laughed Hermione, quickly hugging him.

 

"Thanks 'Mione..." he said hugging her back.

 

Harry scratched his head at a loss, " we aren't going to Canada though are we ? I mean, it's only for a few days, to be seen in a few towns and stuff ? Right ?"

 

"Yeah, we need to be seen heading north but we ain't really doing that !"

 

"Ok well, if you agree on the plan, then, let's go."

 

Harry and Ronald started to get the horses when Hermione realized they had forgot to deal with the bounty hunter, sent by the Malfoy.

 

"What do we do about him ?"

 

Harry turned to her, his jet black hair hiding his green eyes from her for an instant. "We'll just leave him there. He's a bounty hunter, these guys only care about catching people quickly in order to get the money. He'll probably find some new prey and leave us be."

 

She nodded, although she was not quite sure about Harry's reasoning. But she could not bring herself to suggest eliminating the threat altogether.

 

So she climbed onto Hadrian, following her two best friends into the green, and still wet, forest. After all, maybe Harry was right, maybe they had discouraged this bounty hunter. Maybe he would discourage others from following them. Maybe the Malfoy had not even sent others. All in all, it was a lot of maybes, and it did not sit right with Hermione.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the second chapter. Hope it's good enough... Do not hesitate to review, I would love to get some feedback, especially since it is kind of hard to write in English (although the struggle is universal). Anyway, enjoy !

"Is it me or are those guys staring at us ?"

 

Hermione turned to see the men Ronald was talking about. Indeed, a group of about six men, all dressed in the darkest black, was across the street and each of them was looking in their direction.

 

"Yeah they are," whispered Harry following their eyes. He narrowed his. "D'you think they're also on our trail ?"

 

She sighed, their first encounter with a bounty hunter had occurred less than three days ago, it was not a good sign to have others so quickly back on their scent.

 

"Well if they're not, why would they stare so intently ?" she answered barely letting her frustration show.

 

"They wouldn't," grumbled the redhead.

 

They went back to the daily task of feeding their horses and letting them drink. The silence between them was as comfortable as always, although a keen observer might notice the way Harry's shoulders were tense, or how Ron's eyes were constantly on the move, or the scrunched up nose of Hermione.

 

"I'll get some food from the store, then we can get moving," said Ronald standing up without waiting for an answer.

 

She nodded. They had to get moving quickly, the faster they got the hunters of their trail, the faster they could start heading to their real destination. With a sigh she took a spare bootlace and tied it around her frizzing hair. Some black curls instantly escaped but at least she could see in front of her without a whole curtain of them obscuring her view.

 

"Do you think we'll ever get to San Francisco ?" she asked softly, still gazing at the men.

 

Harry turned to her, leaning on Claudius.

 

"Yeah. I mean, it's not a couple of cupid guys who are going to keep us from reaching it. We've survived worse, and we've always escaped, after all," he smiled, "we've got each other."

 

She chuckled, sometimes she forgot about Harry's undying optimism. "Yeah that's true," she whispered, because she did not want to be the one to extinguish that beautiful flame. She glanced at him and saw that he was grinning thanks to her answer. A smile was never lost in this deadly journey.

 

She went back to her contemplation of the men. Most of them were still staring at them. They looked like professionals, they looked threatening. She frowned. There was not one of them who were standing out. Where was their leader ?

 

"Where's their leader ?" she voiced aloud redirecting Harry's attention to the threat at hand.

 

Harry turned once again to follow her look. The men looked quite nasty. But yeah... When you looked attentively, you could see they lacked a commanding presence. "I don't know... but he's certainly not there..." he frowned. "Do you think he went elsewhere to see if the trail continued or changed ?"

 

"Why wouldn't he take his partners with him ?"

 

"No idea..." said Harry. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, there was something else, tickling him at the back of his mind. Some of the men were familiar to him, but how so ? His stomach tightened, were those like famous officers or something ? "Hey 'Mione, don't they seem, I don't know, familiar ?"

 

Her nose scrunched up, as always when she was deep in thought. "Well they kind of are, ... But I might just be thinking that because you implied it was a possibility."

 

"Well they're familiar to me..."

 

"Oi !" thundered a joyous voice, much to close to Hermione who winced. They turned to see a boy about their age, dirtied by manual labour, as it appeared, beaming at them.

 

"Hello," answered Hermione, not trusting anyone in this town.

 

"Name's Nev, yours ?" the boy exclaimed.

 

She could apparently kiss goodbye to her eardrums. This loud display of enthusiasm would be their downfall.

 

"I'm Hermione, this is Harry and the redhead coming this way with the big bags is our friend Ronald." They had to leave a trail strong enough to fool those chasing them, might as well start.

 

The boy's grin spread even more, was it even possible ? "Well, enchanté ! What brings you in our good town of Albion ?"

 

Ronald looked positively perplexed. "Who the fuck is that ?"

 

"Nev," smiled the boy not at all affected by Ronald's language. "I'm from around here, just accompanying Grandma' to do some grocery shopping. You ?"

 

"We're just here to buy some food, we're heading up north," smiled Harry. "Hope you have a good day, we should be leaving..."

 

"Ok, well, enjoy the rest of your trip to those wild lands of Canada !"

 

"Thank you... Nev," grinned Hermione. He looked innocent enough, he would probably get the rumour started quickly. Harry had done a good job.

 

"Bye then !" exclaimed Nev, beaming at the trio. He turned and strode across the main street to join an old woman, looking quite strict and protective of her grandson.

 

"Well he was a weird kind of fellow, wasn't he ?"chuckled Ronald lightly. "But he was nice, we don't get that too often do we ?"

 

"No we don't," laughed Harry. Hermione smiled, it was true that they had not exactly met the best people so far. But Nev was the living proof that it was possible.

 

She took the satchel full of supplies from Ronald's hands and tied it to the saddle of her horse, Hadrian. She quickly tightened back up the saddle before sighing and turning to the two boys who were still laughing, warmed up by Nev's interruption.

 

"We should get going. The sun will set in a few hours."

 

They turned serious again and nodded. All of them climbed on their respective horses, Hermione on Hadrian, Harry on Claudius and Ronald on Titus. They got out of the town slowly, not quickening the pace until they were out of the main street. Before getting to trotting, Ronald threw a last glance in direction of the group of men dressed in solely black. When he turned back to his two best friends, he was frowning.

 

"They're getting ready to leave. They're definitely onto us."

 

"We should start galloping, after all we still have to cross this large prairie before getting to the northern mountains where we'll turn south. We should get there fast that way we'll move south during the night while they'll probably set camp," said Harry, his green eyes narrowed.

 

"Good idea Harry."

 

So they followed his plan, as always.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione sighed as she was fumbling with their cooking utensils, which were few. "What the hell am I supposed to do with that ?" she grumbled holding out a big iron pot as though it was a completely foreign object. She hated being on cooking duty.

 

"Ronald can I go find wood and you cook instead of me please ?"

 

The redhead rolled his eyes not hiding his smirk. "Look at that, Hermione Granger struggling to master one type of knowledge !"

 

She chuckled and gave him the pot. "You're a dear," she laughed.

 

"I'm only doing it because your cooking is that awful !"

 

Harry and her laughed at that. It was true, if she hated cooking so much, it was also because she so clearly sucked at it. But well, recipes in books were not to be trusted in her experience. Which was admittedly barely existent.

 

"Well, I'll get to finding wood."

 

"'Mione, we can't light a fire when we've just changed directions," said Harry softly.

 

She swore. He was right. But still, cold beans, that was disgusting.

 

"We'll light a fire tomorrow, I've gotten some tomato soup."

 

"Yeah, I should not complain anyway, we have to be very careful."

 

Harry nodded, gazing thoughtfully at the forest surrounding them. It must have been the middle of the night. Gigantic clouds obscured the sky. Few noises disturbed the silence of the forest. The loudest sound was Ronald struggling to open the can.

 

"You know 'Mione, I was thinking about that guy who threatened you, you know he was after us," started Harry.

 

"Yeah I remember," she snorted, "I was not held at gunpoint that often."

 

"Well, wasn't he also wearing all black ?"

 

She froze. Now that Harry mentioned it, yes, he was. And not just any black clothes, he was dressed almost exactly as the men from Albion.

 

"He was, with the same clothes..."

 

"What'cha sayin' ? That they're from the same group ?" chuckled Ronald who had finally managed to open the tin and was pouring its content in the iron pot.

 

"Yes," she breathed her eyes widening, "they're from the same fucking group ! It's a fucking uniform !"

 

Ronald stopped moving at the same moment Harry did. They knew what this meant. A group of bounty hunters was never good news, they were more often than not very resourceful and had the means to be very efficient.

 

"You said their leader was missing, could it be the guy who threatened you ?" the green-eyed boy asked.

 

"I don't know ! Could be !"

 

She swore. They had left the leader of a bounty hunters group unconscious in the middle of the forest. Fuck.

 

"Fuck," exclaimed Ronald loudly.

 

"Lower your voice," whispered Harry his eyes gleaming furiously. "You know how groups are, they're fucking efficient."

 

"We are not safe," gasped Hermione, "we have to leave, _right now_ , and not stop till we are really south, really far."

 

They stood up, quickly gathering what they had taken off their horses' backs. Suddenly, Harry gripped their wrists. "It's silent," he breathed. Ronald and Hermione froze. It was. There had not been much sound to start with. But there was not any noise agitating the forest. The silence was deafening. They could only hear their own forceful breaths. Why were they breathing so loudly ?

 

"Get up on your horses, and gallop as far as you can, meeting at noon in Albion tomorrow, understood ?" whispered Harry, merely loud enough for them to hear him. They slowly nodded, as though they were afraid to make noise by simply moving their heads.

 

"When I say now, do it."

 

They waited for minutes, but it stretched into hours for them. The silence was eerie. Hermione could practically feel its weight physically, pushing on her shoulders. She had not noticed they had stopped breathing of their own accord. If she listened very carefully, she could hear the horses neighing approximately a hundred yards in front of them.

 

Harry let go of their wrists and straightened his spine, carefully examining their surroundings.

 

Suddenly, they heard a twig snap on their left, Ronald's side. "NOW !"

 

The shout was unexpected by Hermione who almost immediately fell. But thanks to, well, something, she managed to start running in the direction of the horses. The boys quickly distanced her but they slowed their rhythm in order not to leave her alone. Blood was pounding in her ears. She tripped a few times, running into dark ink. She felt blind, and deaf. She felt powerless, and it was a feeling she despised with all her being.

 

But finally, after what seemed like an eternity of running, they were in the bush where they had hidden the horses and she was on Hadrian, galloping. Branches whipped her face. Something hot was running down her neck. But she could not care, not right now, while she was trying to escape.

 

When she made it out of the forest, all her senses came back to her, she could see the large prairie stretching out before her, bathed in darkness. Hadrian accelerated. She could hear the sound of his hoofs hitting the earth.

 

She turned to see what was happening behind her. Her hair whipped her face, set free by the wind. She struggled with it but eventually managed to identify three men on horses behind her, clearly heading towards her.

 

She turned back to the prairie, whispering sweet nothings in Hadrian's ear. She could see another forest, thicker, darker, ahead of her. Only a few more hundreds of yards, and she would be safe, the same speed could not be maintained in such an environment. They would all have to slow but she had a head start.

 

That is when the first bullet hit the ground only a few feet on her left. Her eyes widened. They did not want to capture her, they wanted the horse alive and her, well she could be dead for all they cared.

 

"Please Hadrian, I know this is a lot to ask, but you need to go faster," she whispered as a second bullet hit the ground, closer, to her right.

 

All their weapons were on Ronald's horse, Titus. She had the maps and the food. She could not defend herself. "If we get out of here alive, I'm taking a knife from Titus, and a gun," she swore between grinded teeth.

 

She glanced back to the men; they were further than she remembered. Hadrian was really giving everything. She smiled when she saw two of them slowing down to a halt. They must have seen she would get to the forest before them. Fools. She chuckled and turned back.

 

Her smile fell and she pulled harshly on Hadrian's reins. The horse was startled and fell on his side, Hermione following suite. Thankfully she fell before, out of pure reflex, therefore not getting stuck under the animal. She rolled on the now dusty ground, coughing as some of the dust got into her mouth. Finally, the world stopped tumbling around her and she could see the sky again. Her throat was dry.

 

A shadow hid the cloudy sky from her. But the teeth of the shadow were gleaming, the bastard had the nerve to smile.

 

"Good evening miss Granger, we meet again."


	3. Chapter 3

Harry kept his head low the low branches barely scraping the top of his head. He had elected to go deeper into the forest, knowing he would probably drag a few assailants with him. They would be swallowed in turn by the inky nature, and therefore, would not be chasing Hermione or Ron. Claudius was walking slowly, seemingly unimpressed by all the fuss which had previously taken place. He was only caring about where he could put his hoofs.

 

"Well," he mumbled, "I think we're alone, I can't hear a sound."

 

And it was true, it was silent, and for once, not in a threatening way. Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. He hoped Ron and Hermione were as lucky. Especially Hermione, Ron had weapons and she had... Well she had flour and beans. And maps, poorly drawn ones at that.

 

The neighing of a horse broke the calm silence. It was coming from his right. Threat or friend ? He could not risk it. He pushed Claudius to follow the sound. For all he knew, one of his best friends could have followed him and gotten stuck in some thick bush.

 

So he tried to find the source of the sound.

 

It was not hard since a lot of screaming, angry screaming he noted, could be heard from the same direction. He asked Claudius to go faster. They were three and now all by themselves, being outnumbered was bound to happen.

 

When he heard the first shot, he almost turned back. But they were probably not shooting at each other. So their assailants had found one of them. The horse seemed to sense his growing worry as he sped up. The branches were now whipping Harry's face. He could taste the copper on his tongue. He was bleeding, he could feel the cut in his lips.

 

Finally he got to the clearing where the noise was originating. Ron was on his horse, pistol in hand, face red, shooting at the assailants.

 

Claudius surged forward, almost making Titus trip. Harry took one of the pistols from Ron's saddle, and he plunged into the battle, the smell of powder heavy and darkening the darkest of nights.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione could not see properly. She could distinguish a shadow but that was all. She knew that the voice was familiar. But she was so fucking tired. She just wanted to sleep. On the dust if necessary.

 

"Well, you do not seem very alert tonight, how... disappointing." said the shadow, amusement clearly audible.

 

She wanted to say "fuck you", but her mouth, no her throat, was aching. It was like a dry parchment. She needed fucking water. Still, a shadow was not going to mock her and go unscathed.

 

"Fuck you," she murmured, or rather growled. It was not very clear, what was limpid though was that this tiny effort had created a tiresome ringing in her ears.

 

"What was that ?"

 

The shadow crouched next to her. She could see the features of the man more distinctly now. It was the man of the forest, the bounty hunter. Of course, she was the lucky one to get caught by him, the one with absolutely no weapon on her.

 

She scowled.

 

"Fuck you," she breathed out. If possible, her voice was even weaker than before.

 

His smile remained in place, teeth white. He was one of the few men she had met who had white teeth. She herself had rather good teeth as her mother had insisted on hygiene, saying her deceased father used to be a physician.

 

"Do you want something to drink ?" he asked, still sounding fucking entertained.

 

Her glare was a force to be reckoned with, that is what Ronald and Harry had been telling her for years, yet he was unaffected. He stood up and went to his own horse, a black horse. Of course, she scoffed, the villain had to have a black horse.

 

While he was busy doing well, something, she could not see very well, she turned her head, trying to ignore the burning pain in her neck. A small whimper escaped her lips. If he noticed, he did not show it. Hadrian was still close, a few yards away. He was grazing on the grass of the prairie, seemingly not as hurt by the fall as she was. She could run to him and then gallop far away. Her body was not okay with her plan.

 

He was back; she could hear footsteps getting closer.

 

"Here," he said. A hand was abruptly at her chin turning it back towards him. He was holding a flask towards her mouth. Suddenly it did not matter that he was a killer anymore, he had water. She opened her mouth, not even caring to know if it was poison.

 

Well, her throat was quick to tell her this was not poison. This was whiskey, and it was strong. He was quenching her thirst but not putting out the fire in her throat. She coughed out the liquor, surprised, shocked.

 

Of course, he laughed. He probably thought she was not used to drinking alcohol. Well she was, more than drinking water. But she had not been expecting it. Her anger at him mocking her got her to raise her arm, albeit weakly, and take the flask for him. Glaring at him, she took three big swigs before relenting her hold and letting her head fall on the dirt once more. She sighed.

 

Fuck this was stronger than what she was used to. Already time seemed to be dividing itself, the world around her slowing down.

 

He smiled at her, although he did not appear impressed, and took a gulp himself.

 

"Now that you can speak again, tell me, did you think _I_ would not find you ?"

 

She frowned.

 

"I never said we could escape from bounty hunters for eternity," she mumbled.

 

In the deep night, his eyes resembled dark voids. They remained as intense as the first time she has stared into them. They were not beautiful. They were enthralling, dangerously so.

 

"Do you really believe I'm just some random bounty hunter ?" he rasped. As his voice had gone deeper, his eyes had regained their feral quality. Curiosity had lit his features.

 

She glared at him. He really was pretentious. She could have escaped if he had not... just been there. If Hadrian had turned before she noticed him herself.

 

"Well if you're not just some random bounty hunter, what are you ? A gold-digger ?" snorted Hermione. She was going to show him he was just as common as anybody.

 

"You really do not know who I am..."

 

Slowly he started grinning. It was a predatory type of grin. She shivered, sending jolting pains through her whole body.

 

"I am Lord Voldemort," he whispered into the night.

 

Hermione sucked in a breath.

 

"Fucking hell."

 

* * *

  

Ron wiped the sweat off his forehead. Finally the gun smoke had settled, the fight was finally over. Harry was nursing small injuries he had gotten while galloping in the forest. He smiled. They got off pretty well. They had taken down the two assailants; the other members of the group apparently had not heard the commotion.

 

"We getting good at fighting aren't we ?" he beamed.

 

His raven-haired friend smiled his lips shut tightly.

 

"Yeah, 'Mione wouldn't appreciate it..."

 

Ron's grin fell. Hermione, where was she ? He glanced at the sky but it could not be seen through the trees cover. It was probably still night.

 

"D'you think she'll be at Albion tomorrow ?"

 

Harry shrugged. He was frowning.

 

"Yeah, probably, but she hasn't got any weapon on her, that's what I'm worried about..."

 

"She's fucking Hermione, she'll manage without weapon, as she would say," said Ron with a soft voice, "you don't need no weapon when you got a brain."

 

Harry chuckled shaking his head. "Yeah that's pretty much her whole philosophy in one sentence."

 

"She'll be at Albion. I can feel it in my guts," stated Ron. He had to appear confident, even if it was just to comfort Harry. One of them had to be strong or they would both crumble.

 

"Hope you're right," he whispered.

 

"Know I am."

 

* * *

 

 

She could feel the almost comical widening of her eyes. _Lord Voldemort_. She thought it was a legend. She had heard stories of this shadow for over ten years. She thought her mother told her about it to scare her off from strangers.

 

Oh they were fucking dead. He was famous for his bloodlust, his complete lack of empathy, the torture he would inflict on his victims.

 

She abruptly sat up straight, causing her head to turn, because of the alcohol and because of her likely concussion.

 

"No," she whispered.

 

She could not have come so far to die like that, at the hand of that mindless killer and his minions, the deathfeeders or some stupid name like that.

 

A chuckle interrupted her thoughts.

 

"I can almost see the wheels turning in there."

 

"But, Lord Voldemort is just a legend."

 

Her voice was firmer than she thought it ought to be. She was after all sitting, in poor physical shape, next to a famous bounty hunter, famous for his kills.

 

His eyes were sharp and caught hers. The intensity in his stare made her understand the legend better. This man was a force to be reckoned with. He was lethal.

 

"Well you can see that it is not, just a legend."

 

She suddenly felt thankful for the whiskey in her veins. It gave her enough courage not to tremble. It was enough.

 

"Are you gonna kill us ?" she breathed out.

 

He smirked. Fucking bastard. She wanted to punch him. But she was weakened by the fall, and it was not a good idea to get on the bad side of Lord fucking Voldemort. If she got out of this alive, she had one hell of a story.

 

"I see that my reputation precedes me as always."

 

"We've only stolen a few horses, we haven't done anything serious !"

 

She was slowly, but surely, giving in to panic. He could not kill them, not for so little. They were less criminals than he was ! Her breath quickened, she was panting, adrenalin surging through her veins. Her body was functioning again, albeit not well, but good enough. Hadrian was still quite close to her. She had to flee. Now.

 

"Darling, I'm paid to kill people, not to judge them," he sighed rolling his eyes.

 

This was a fucking game to him. He was getting paid to commit crimes ! How could this be possible ! Was this justice ? She knew she was succumbing to her righteous anger. But she could not help it. Hermione believed, before everything, in justice and equality.

 

"You're committing murder to punish those who have committed lesser crimes, you have no right to moral judgment," she spat.

 

Suddenly he was on her, her back had hit the ground, making her whimper in pain. He had encaged her between his arms. They were not touching but she could feel his burning breath on her face.

 

"You fucking bitch think you're better than me," he whispered softly, as Ronald or Harry would whisper to her to comfort her thought Hermione, his dark eyes were staring coldly at hers. "Don't forget you stole, and you escaped from your legal status. You're just as much a criminal as me."

 

When she would look back on that moment, Hermione would realize that it was the mention of her escape that triggered her reaction. A reaction that was only proving what Ronald had said about her, she was short-tempered.

 

She head-butted him. When her forehead collided with his nose, her vision briefly became black. But thanks to the adrenalin and to her anger, she quickly pushed him to the side while he was still in shock, and stood up on wobbling legs.

 

She glared at him. He was staring at her, frowning, mouth opened, lips red with blood. She had broken his nose.

 

"Do not mention this so called fucking legal-status of mine. I am an individual with as much rights as you have. Fuck you !" she snarled. She wanted to spit on him, but her throat was quickly getting dry again.

 

She quickly turned and run to Hadrian. Black dots were starting to form on the landscape. Probably not a good idea to run. Still, she did not have a choice. She quickly climbed on Hadrian.

 

"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT YOU FUCKING BITCH ! NO ONE ESCAPES FROM _ME_ YOU HEAR ?! I'LL FIND YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS AND THIS TIME I'LL GET STRAIGHT TO THE KILLING !"

 

She turned the horse to face him. He was standing a few yards away. His face was sickly white in the moon's light. His eyes were mad and his lips were curled in an ugly snarl.

 

"Good luck with that," she smiled. Hadrian then started galloping hell for leather for the forest she had previously seen.

 

She would hide there and meet with Harry and Ron the next day. She smiled, as she was getting deeper into the inky and bushy darkness. Yes, the danger was bigger now that it was Lord Voldemort and his, well minions, on their trail. But now that they knew, they could plan accordingly. He was thought to be clever, well; he was in for a ride, because if Hermione was one thing, it was fucking brilliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very hard to write. I wanted this first real encounter to be intense but I feel like it did not really work out. Anyway, next chapter, we shall really get into historical context !


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, no Tomione interaction this time ! But hey, I am trying to make this story a tiny bit coherent so they can not possibly spend every living moment together...
> 
> Hope you liked it and that you'll review, it always warms my sinful heart (let's be honest, we're Tomione fans).

Ron and Harry glanced anxiously at each other. It was 11:59, they were in Albion, but Hermione was nowhere to be seen. The main street was empty save for a grumpy man carrying two buckets of brown water.

 

"Where the fuck is she ?" whispered the red-head furiously.

 

Harry shrugged, staring unrelentingly at the horizon, hoping to see his bushy-haired friend's silhouette. The sky was blue, a baby shade of blue, inhabited by a few fluffy clouds.

 

"She made it," he mumbled, "she can't not have made it."

 

The clock of the town hall got to noon. Ron swore. They were not losing her, not after all they had already survived. He quickly climbed on Titus.

 

"C'mon we have to go look for her," he stated, voice hard, barely quivering.

 

Harry nodded and got on Claudius, still not blinking. Ron sighed. It was not very productive to stay there while the assailants were probably not very far.

 

"Where should we start looking fi-"

 

"Wait !" breathed Harry feverishly.

 

Ron glanced at the horizon. He could not help the beam that formed on his face. They both threw their horses in a gallop. Finally they were facing her. Harry gasped. She was not in great shape, and that would be an understatement.

 

She was covered in dust, her dark skin barely visible under the dirt. Her hair, usually already quite voluminous, had tripled in volume, the curls almost crackling with energy, rising on her head. Her sweat and her blood were running on her neck. She had a lot of blood on her forehead but apparently no injury. And she was beaming at them, her eyes furiously alive.

 

"Hello boys, missed me ?"

 

Ron, and Harry mind you, were staring at her mouth open, eyes wide. He shook his head frowing.

 

"I'd love to know how you ended up in such a frightening state 'Mione, I really do but-"

 

"I know," she cut him, still smiling of that oh-so-alive smile, "we have to go. I'll tell you when we're safer."

 

They nodded still staring at her dumbly.

 

"So," she chuckled, "should we get going or what ?"

 

* * *

 

 

Tom Riddle was not much of a patient man. You could say he had a bit of a temper. There were seven things he hated more than anything : death (his only of course), love (pure crap invented to get humans to reproduce), humiliation, pity, failure, unfaithfulness (from his death eaters) and disrespect.

 

When this... stupid _girl_ ran away, no, _managed_ to run away from _him_... Well, he was upset. She had humiliated him, she was nothing, and she had humiliated the great Lord Voldemort.

 

He snarled before spitting the blood that had pooled in his mouth. The bitch had had the nerves to hit him ! She had humoured him before this little bit. She had a smart mouth, when she was talking back to him, he could imagine all the delightful things he would do to her later. Namely, for starters, rip out her quick tongue.

 

Tom was what his 'colleagues' called a predator. He liked playing with his preys. That was why he had always liked the fact that his name was more legend than reality nowadays. He enjoyed seeing his victims unravel before him, fear making them crumble, kneel to his feet in supplication.

 

He loved the way their eyes would comically widen, quickly filling with tears.

 

But _her_... Yes, her eyes had widened, but there was no fear in them, there was shock at most. She had immediately thought of the fate she would share with her two companions. Clearly they were close, although there seemed not be any romantically involvement. At least that was what the Malfoy had said.

 

He spat again before wiping his nose and mouth on his sleeve. God it had been a long time since he had been hit that hard. Since he had been hit at all.

 

He crouched and took back his flask. Well the bitch must have drunk half of his whiskey too. He took a quick swig. Her smell was clinging to the leather. No, not her smell, the smell of her hair. It was, peculiar. He could not describe it. It was weirdly warm, the smell of warm earth after a sunny day.

 

He snorted. Yeah right. Well he would rip her hair off when he would get her hands on her again. Or drench it in something foul.

 

Tom grinned. The dawn was rising. The blood on his teeth was glinting with the golden sun. He would make her regret all of her actions. She would be special, his treat. Oh, he would take his time, and by the time he will be finished with her, no one will be able to recognize her. Maybe he should make her friends watch.

 

He raised his hand to his nose and winced. It was broken. He had to give it to her, she had guts. Well, it was not the first time he was hit in the nose. He could still breathe right. He wiped off the rest of the blood and got back on his horse Nagini.

 

"Come on let's go," he whistled.

 

* * *

 

 

"So," said Ronald between two mouthfuls of beans, "you're saying that the guy we knocked down in the forest says he's Lord Voldemort ?"

 

His laughter rang in the forest. Hermione shook her head chuckling.

 

"I know it sounds crazy, I mean he's just a legend right ?"

 

"Yeah," laughed Ronald, "mum used to tell us about him all the time, mainly to scare Fred and George from causing too much trouble, not that it worked out !"

 

Hermione joined him in his boisterous laughter. Yes, keeping George and Fred Weasley away from trouble was kind of a lost cause.

 

"I think he isn't a legend."

 

Harry had spoken very quietly but they both stopped laughing as soon as he did. He was looking at them with a serious face.

 

"The rumour is he killed my parents."

 

Hermione gave him a sad little smile and put her arm on his shoulders.

 

"We know Harry, it's just, you know it's never been proven. It's a rumour."

 

Her raven-haired friend sighed letting his head falling in his hands. Hermione rubbed his back going in circles. This was a tense subject. Death almost always was.

 

"I know, I know..."

 

Ronald was looking at them frowning.

 

"That's weird..."

 

She glanced at him. "What is ?"

 

"Well, the rumour about, Lord Voldemort only started like, ten, twelve years ago..."

 

"So ?"

 

He put his tin bowl still half full at his feet.

 

"Harry's parents were murdered seventeen years ago. How can it be the same person ? And how can the rumour be so...late ?"

 

Hermione opened her mouth to answer but ended up silent. Ronald was right. It was not logic. She hated what was illogical. She frowned.

 

"I... I don't know," she stated.

 

"Maybe he had not crafted his pseudonym yet," answered Harry bitterly.

 

"Or maybe the murder was wrongly attributed."

 

"Who got charged at the time ?" asked Ronald.

 

Hermione and Harry tensed slightly. Sometimes Ronald forgot that people who murdered persons from their side of the law were not charged. They were sometimes even congratulated.

 

"Who do you think ?" snapped Harry.

 

"Hey," murmured Hermione, "we're not fighting about this now."

 

"Yeah," he sighed, "sorry Ron it's just, it's... painful."

 

The red-head nodded clapping a hand on his friend's knee. "I'm sorry I didn't think before speaking. 'Mione is right, I should try it sometime."

 

They chuckled. Ronald picked up his beans and started eating again.

 

"Anyway," breathed Hermione, "that bounty hunter was way too young to be as experienced as Lord Voldemort is supposed to be."

 

Harry glanced at her. "So you don't think it's him ?"

 

She laughed. It was a relief to be rational again, not under the pressure of the threat of death. Of course it could not be him, Ronald was right. It was downright absurd. She had believed it because she had been panicking. She shook her head and shot a beaming smile at her two best friends.

 

"No way it's him, probably some random bounty hunter who wanted to scare me more than I already was."

 

Harry smiled tightly and returned her embrace. They were safe, for now.

 

* * *

 

"So Avery, what news do you bring ?"

 

The tension was palpable as the amicable chatter died as soon as Tom opened his mouth. The so-called Avery was sweating profusely under the hard stare of their leader. He was afraid, but at least thought Tom, he was trying to hide it.

 

"They were seen in Albion at noon, my Lord," the man spoke, his voice agitated with small tremors.

 

Tom raised his eyebrow. Did he really do such a bad job at teaching his followers how to deliver, useful, information ?

 

"Well, although that's fascinating, I'd rather know in which direction they set out."

 

He had let her, no, them, a day and a night as a head start. She, they, was promising prey. It was set out to be a good game. Anyway his followers needed the chase to keep in shape.

 

"They set out in the south direction, m'Lord."

 

"You can sit down."

 

Avery quickly scrambled to get a seat in the circle around the fire. The man next to him, Nott, gave him a flask full of whiskey and a piece of dried beef.

 

"Well," grinned Tom coldly, "looks like we're heading south gentlemen."

 

His death eathers cheered raising their flasks.

 

"Where d'you think they're heading m'Lord ?" asked a stout man named Mulciber.

 

"San Francisco."

 

The men glanced at each other, clearly doubting his ability to pinpoint their exact destination.

 

"Where else would they go ? Elsewhere, they have no freedom, they need a new town," his smile was widening, showing his glinting white teeth, "and we'll be there for them."

 

He would be there for _her_. The bitch had it coming her way.

 

* * *

 

The sun woke Hermione up. She had not slept that well for many nights. Smiling she stood up and started gathering their scarce belongings.

 

"Time to wake up boys," she sing-sung, her voice still hoarse with sleep.

 

Ronald stirred slowly opening his eyes. "Do we have coffee left ?"

 

"Yes but we're keeping it for this evening, you remember that we're not sleeping tonight don't you ?"

 

He grunted and turned to face his saddle.

 

"Harry," she whispered gently shaking his shoulder.

 

"Hum ?"

 

"We have to go, the sun has risen."

 

"Yeah..."

 

She sighed with a grin. Molly Weasley was right to complain, those two were a pain to wake up in the morning. Though she could not really blame them, they had not slept much in the past week.

 

She secured the cooking utensils in a ballot that would go on Harry's saddle. She looked at her own, already fastened on Hadrian. She frowned, remembering her resolution the night of the attack.

 

Eliciting a grunt from Ronald, she pushed him to have a look at the weapons fastened to his saddle. She took a pistol in her hands. It was heavier than she thought.

 

"What are you doing ?"

 

She quickly put the pistol in her belt and started looking at the few knives adorning the leather. "When we were attacked and separated I realized I had nothing to defend myself with, I'm not making the same mistake twice."

 

That blade looked good, or at least not rusty. She shoved it in her boot making sure it did not damage her coarse canvas pants.

 

"Yeah okay," mumbled the red-head, oblivious to what she had just said.

 

She rolled her eyes in amusement.

 

"C'me on boys, we're going !" she shouted not caring anymore about their dear sleep.

 

They grumbled things like "jeez mom", Ronald actually earned himself a good kick in the leg saying that, but finally got up and started packing and getting their horses ready. They yawned during the whole process, but at least, they were not sleeping anymore.

 

"Why are you so..." began to say Ronald gesturing at her frowning.

 

"Active that early ?" she completed giving him a stern look. "Because we're finally going south, so it means we'll get to San Francisco soon."

 

He chuckled at her enthusiasm.

 

"She's right," smiled Harry while climbing on Claudius, "freedom will soon be ours."

 

"Ours" they repeated in unison.

 

Yes thought Hermione as they set out for a long journey. Nothing can stop us, we have managed to come this far after all.


	5. Chapter 5

The view was breath taking. The mountains were starting to warm with the sunrise, turning to a fiery red. The sharp edges of the stones were highlighted by the creasing shadows. It was as if they were entering a stone prairie being slowly covered by the bloody fire tide.

 

"'Mione, not that I'm complaining about the landscape," chuckled Ron, "but we have to keep moving."

 

She nodded, not wanting to talk and break the serenity of the dawn. Her two friends had a bit of head start on her, they too were quickly being overwhelmed by the tide of light. Harry's dark skin was glowing as though it was the scene of a blaze. Ronald's hair... Well it was even more fiery than usual.

 

She chuckled to herself when he turned to her, his whole skin bathed in the bloody light. He beamed at her and winked, never unhappy to see her smile.

 

She supposed her hair too was set afire by the sunset. It probably looked as if someone had tried lighting a torch, thinking her hair was straw.

 

Suddenly they stopped. She joined them quickly. They were on the set of a precipice.

 

"Now what ?" asked Harry.

 

"I feel like this is a metaphor for our lives currently," she joked gaining laughs.

 

Ronald got off his horse and looked at them expectantly.

 

"We should look at a map."

 

They nodded and got off in turn. Hermione rummaged through the pockets of her saddle and got one of the maps out. She fell to her knees and unfolded it on the ground.

 

"There seems to be several itineraries," she thought out loud.

 

"Which one is shorter ?" asked Harry frowning.

 

"I guess it would be the one from Amarillo, we're not far from it, then to Phoenix."

 

"Yeah ain't Phoenix a big town ?"

 

"You're right Ronald, it might not be the safest. We should stay far from big cities, that's how we survived so far."

 

"A'ight but which road then ?"

 

"We could go back north and go to like Pagosa Springs ?"

 

Ronald kneeled next to her and traced the itinerary with his finger humming appreciatively.

 

"She's not wrong, they'll expect us to at least go to Denver or Albuquerque."

 

Harry nodded.

 

"You're the strategists of the group," he smiled. "We'll do that."

 

Hermione folded the map and put it back in her saddle. They all climbed back on their horses, setting to take the route they had decided on.

 

Their rhythm was steady, basically trotting a bit during the deep of the night, then walking in the morning and evenings while hiding and resting during the day. They had left Albion three weeks ago and had already taken a lot of detours. But at least, they had not met another bounty hunter.

 

Hermione did not say it aloud but since a few days she thought something was amiss. She did not know what, that was why she did not confide in her two best friends, but still. The fact that they had not met a single other bounty hunter was enough to unsettle her. Three weeks were a long period of time and although they had taken great care to hide themselves, they still left a trail.

 

"How do you think life is in San Francisco ?"

 

They had that discussion often. It was a long-life dream after all.

 

"I think it's freedom," she smiled.

 

"We'll be rich, we'll find gold, we'll have girls and beer, and horses," exclaimed Ronald feverishly.

 

They laughed at his antics.

 

It was a well-rehearsed scene.

 

"I think we'll be away to let go of our fear."

 

Instinctively, they got closer, they feet brushing against each other. 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom sighed. His deatheaters were more incompetent than he had initially thought. They were apparently incapable of finding the trail of three young adults who had absolutely no experience in running from bounty hunters, let alone skilled ones like them.

 

He massaged his forehead with both his hands. He would probably soon have wrinkles with the trouble they got him.

 

"Mulciber, you better have good news," he whispered, knowing every member of his crew was hanging on to his every words.

 

Without looking, he knew the man was trembling. He knew what he meant when he took that exasperated tone, it meant if the news were not good enough, Tom would not hesitate to shoot him.

 

"M'Lord they were seen in Dalhart two days ago..."

 

His head snapped up. His eyes were hard and narrowed. From the way Mulciber cowered, he looked as terrifying as ever.

 

"Are you sure ?"

 

"Yeah m'Lord," the man whispered eyes wide.

 

"They're going to cross the Rio Grande," smiled Tom.

 

He turned to his other companions.

 

"We'll be waiting for them there."

 

They quickly got on their horses and left camp, galloping to get to the river before the fugitives. Tom had no doubt they would. From the look of their trail they were doing a lot of detours, making it difficult to predict where they would go next. But if one knew one of the steps, it was easy to wait for them there as they took much more time getting there in the first place.

 

This was going to be glorious. Maybe even his masterpiece.

  

* * *

 

 

Hermione sighed looking at Ronald struggling to make a decent meal out of the few ingredients they had left.

 

"We should do some grocery shopping in the next small town."

 

He grinned at her nodding.

 

"Yeah we don't even have coffee anymore."

 

She chuckled, Ronald was obsessed with coffee. It was good enough for her though not her favourite beverage. She rose and took clean clothes from Harry's saddle.

 

"I'll go wash up a bit in the river we saw," she stated.

 

They hummed in response. It was not far, just a few yards away. She smiled. Sometimes they were overprotective and sometimes, they acted like normal people.

 

She cleared herself a way through the thick forest. It was greener than the last one they had taken refuge in. The smell of the earth was rich, humid, tangent. She could feel some of its bitterness and warmth sticking to the back of her throat.

 

Finally she got to the bank of the quite heavy stream they had noticed earlier. They had chosen to establish camp there. Fresh water and cleanness would not hurt.

 

She kneeled on the river bed's stone and put her clean clothes and her brush next to her. She took a deep breath and brushed the water with her hand. It was cold. But she had bathed in colder water. Shivering in the dim sunlight she took her pants off. Her naked legs were quite dirty. Her nose crunched up. She did not like spending that much time without washing. She then took of her used-to-be white shirt. She rubbed her chest with her hands, suffusing some heat back.

 

With the care of a ballet dancer, she sat back down on the cold stone and stretched her foot to the water. Still cold. Maybe the clouds would disappear when she got into the water, enabling the sun to warm her.

 

She sighed. She would have to get in the water one way or another. So far, she had always managed to do it. So she closed her eyes, stood up, looked one last time at the stream, making sure it was deep, and then, she jumped.

 

The clear water engulfed her. She quickly scrambled to the surface and took a deep breath shivering uncontrollably. Not losing any time she took the coarse brush from where she had let it on the rock.

 

She began to scrub her skin with vigour. She swore she could see her dark skin redden because of her rather rude ministrations. When she was done scrubbing her body clean, she put the brush back on the rock and plunged in the water.

 

She caressed her body with her hands, now at least it was clean.

 

She then proceeded to wash her hair. It meant putting some earth with oil in it and then rinsing. It would still be wild but it would be clean.

 

Finally, after twenty minutes of intense washing, she climbed on the bank, panting. The dry rock was now covered with the water she had brought with her. She stood up and put her hands on her hips. Damn she had forgotten to take a cloth to wash herself.

 

She shrugged. It would not do to die of hypothermia so close to freedom. She quickly put her clean canvas pants on and then her clean shirt, a deep red. She smiled at the colour. It was a poor association with the deep black of her pants but she love that colour. It reminded her of the friendliness of the Weasley family.

 

She quickly gathered her belongings and went back to the camp. Ronald was heating beans in a tin pot while whistling a joyful tune and Harry was squinting at the pages of one of her books. She put away her things and sat next to him.

 

"What words can't you read ?" she asked softly.

 

He frowned.

 

"Well each of them except for the "I"s and the "you"s."

 

She smiled at him and put her arm on his shoulders.

 

"Should we get back to those reading lessons then ?"

 

Harry grinned.

 

"Whenever you want professor."

 

She laughed.

 

* * *

 

Tom was getting tired. They had arrived in Pagosa Springs two days ago and there were still no signs of the fugitives. He knew this was likely to happen. They would probably make as many detours as humanly possible.

 

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they had taken the risk to go to Albuquerque or to Denver.

 

He frowned. Why would they expect him to be there ? Or maybe he was imagining things and they were headed this way.

 

He sighed and stood up, opening the door of his room. One of his lieutenants was sat in front of it holding watch.

 

"Go find me Nott and Avery," barked Tom before banging the door closed.

 

He needed blood. To see it run down her skin, her eyes would widen in fear. He breathed out shakily. God knows how much he needed it.

 

He went to the window to see his men, hovering next to the saloon, watching the road. Maybe he would accompany them to the brothel this night. He needed to unwind.

 

He sharply turned his head as the floorboard creaked.

 

"Enter," he ordered loudly.

 

Two men opened the door and entered his room. He motioned for them to seat on the two lonely chairs. The wood creaked under their weight.

 

"Nott, you're going to wait for them in Albuquerque. Avery you'll do the same in Denver."

 

"But I thought they were coming to Pagosa Springs m'Lord ?"

 

He glared at Nott.

 

"Maybe they are, maybe they aren't. I'm not with them am I ?" he bit back sarcasm drooling from his tone.

 

Nott turned red and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. So much weakness.

 

"What do we do if we find them ?" asked Avery.

 

Tom raised an eyebrow.

 

"My Lord ?"

 

He smirked. Better, much better.

 

"It's simple," he murmured languidly, "you bring her, them, to me. Without killing them or torturing them too much. Understood ?"

 

They nodded vigorously.

 

"Good. You can go now."

 

They scrambled to their feet and went for the door.

 

"If I was to learn that you missed them if they happen to go through these towns, do not bother believing you'll remain alive much longer," he drawled inspecting his nails.

 

They mumbled something, as incapable of forming a coherent thought as ever, and left.

 

Tom watched them leave Pagosa Springs through his window. God he hoped she, they, would come here rather than be discovered by one of his underlings. She, they, was above that. She deserved for him to find her.

 

* * *

 

 

"Finally coming out of the forest !" exclaimed Ronald with growing enthusiasm.

 

"Shut up Ronald I'm trying to see if there are people on the road," she whispered furiously giving him a glare.

 

He and Harry rolled their eyes.

 

"It's the middle of the night 'Mione, let Ron express his joy," smiled the dark-haired man.

 

"You'll be sorry if there actually _is_ someone on the road," she muttered petulantly.

 

They chuckled and trotted to the edge of the forest. It was, of course, empty.

 

"Left or right ?" asked Harry.

 

"Pagosa Springs is to the right," said Ronald heading said way.

 

They followed him in silence. Even if Hermione thought they should be more careful, she was just as happy to finally get out of this forest. It was getting rather tiring and insects kept invading her hair. Thankfully she had been able to wash everyday because of the number of streams.

 

"It's nice to finally _see_ each other while we're moving," chuckled Ronald.

 

They laughed in unison. The moon was pouring her silver light on the road. The earth was probably reddish in the sun but it had taken a luminous grey colour in the clear night.

 

"Wait," stopped Ronald, "there is someone coming."

 

All three of them launched their horses to the border of the forest, hiding in the thick vegetation. The figure was growing at the end of the road.

 

"Do you think he saw us ?" whispered Hermione her nose scrunching up.

 

Ronald shook his head.

 

"Don't think so."

 

They waited in silence. The horserider passed them without a glance. Ronald had been right. She made to go back to the road when Harry grasped her arm.

 

"Did you see ?" he whispered eyes wide.

 

"Saw what ?"

 

She turned to Ronald who had considerably paled.

 

"'Mione, it was one of the Albion's man, he was in all black and I recognized his face..."

 

She breathed in sharply.

 

"Fuck, do you think they're waiting for us in Pagosa Springs ?"

 

"Maybe," shrugged Ronald looking at the road to see if any more horseriders would show up. "I wonder how they learned we were going there."

 

Harry was frowning.

 

"They must have guessed we would rather cross the Rio Grande than bypass it..."

 

"Fuck," swore Hermione. "We need supplies, there are not any other towns or ranches in this region !"

 

"Shit."

 

Hermione and Ronald continued to swear for an instant when they noticed the growing smile on Harry's face. His eyes were glowing mischievously.

 

"Harry," asked Hermione with caution, "please tell me you do not have a plan ?"

 

"Oh yes Hermione, I do. And it's brilliant. We're going to be safely passing through this town and get supplies."

 

Utterly fucked. That is what they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, there will be Tomione interaction, anyway I hope you like it ! Do not hesitate to review and to point any mistakes I've made ! There can't be progress if I do not know where are my weaknesses !


	6. Chapter 6

Pagosa Springs' mayor, Xenophilius Lovegood was, as his name reveals it, not completely in a sound state of mind. He was often dressed in bright colours and was very proud to be part of a mystical society which believed in all kinds of spirits, a society named, The Quibbler, which he had funded. He was its only member apart from his lovely daughter Luna, who was also the teacher of the school.

 

So when one day, a horse with an ephemeral body on it walked in town, he could only react in turn. He was baffled, amazed, he laughed like a little child, gleeful.

 

The horse was majestic and on top of it was a heavy coat of leather, well worn, standing, despite not covering an apparent body. A small hay hat was completing the spirit outfit.

 

"Good citizens of Pagosa Springs !" he exclaimed. "The day has come ! A spirit has finally accepted to show itself to us !"

 

A man who had only arrived in town a few days ago got out of the saloon.

 

"Oy stranger ! Look at this beautifully strange phenomenon nature has gifted us with !"

 

Tom scowled. That crazy old bat was waving in his direction. A horse rider seemed to have caught the attention of the... so-called mayor. Tom, even though it was not that voluntarily, joined Lovegood. What a despicable name.

 

"Yes, ... sir ?"

 

The man stared at him his eyes so full of joy Tom thought for a moment that he might be sick.

 

"Look," the mayor whispered feverishly, "a spirit."

 

Tom rolled his eyes and glanced at the figure. He frowned. There was no body where there should be one. And the coat was vaguely familiar. He pushed Lovegood and grabbed the leather sleeve.

 

"No don't anger the spirit of Mother Nature !" screamed the mad man trying to get Tom to relent his hold.

 

"Don't touch me old fool," he spat before pulling.

 

The coat fell to the ground along with the hat and a few branches that had been arranged to give it its corporeal appearance.

 

"Well," he drawled, "looks like your spirit just vanished sir."

 

He heard snickers from his men and gave them a smirk. The mad man fell to his knees and held the branches close to his breast murmuring who knows what. Tom looked at him with contempt. But then he noticed something on the coat.

 

He squatted down next to Lovegood and grabbed the coat. There was a hair on it. His eyes widened, it was black and curly. 

 

Suddenly the sound of galloping neighing horses was heard in the distance. He quickly stood up and looked at the end of the road, where the noise seemed to be coming from. A cloud of dust and smoke could be seen.

 

"Smoke ?" he murmured squinting.

 

"FIRE !"

 

Screams erupted through the town and the inhabitants began running in the main street yelling. The crowd jostled Tom. He noticed the source of the fire when the flames began licking the front of the building. It was coming from the prison.

 

Wait, the prison was where the sheriff kept his weapons....

 

"EVERYONE DOWN THERE'S GUNPOWDER THERE !"

 

He began to run towards the saloon to see that his men took shelter, when all hell broke loose.

 

* * *

 

Hermione pulled up the piece of fabric protecting her nose and mouth from the smoke and the gunpowder floating in the air. She clung to Harry's waist. The explosion had made it impossible to see anything in the main street. Fortunately they knew this would happen so they had spent the whole dawn mapping the little town, which really consisted of one street, from afar.

 

"Now 'Mione !" yelled Harry, though she barely heard him in the commotion they had created.

 

She let go of his waist and, though Claudius was still galloping, let herself fall down the horse. She rolled up into a ball so as to minimize the consequences of her impact with the ground. She fell on her right side. Fuck it hurt.

 

Someone tripped on her in the panicked crowd. She quickly stood, she did not have time to think about all the bruises that were probably forming on her body.

 

She ran towards the grocery store she had fell in front of and opened the front door. No one, just as expected. There was less smoke there. She pulled down the fabric from her nose and mouth, breathing more easily.

 

Then, she set to work and proceeded to rob, though she was going to let cash on the counter, the shop. She took food, water, alcohol, clothes, soap, everything that fell under her eyes went into her canvas bag.

 

She was now getting to the furthest alleys in the back of the shop where the medicine was stored, perfect, they needed some, just in case.

 

Then the door banged open and close. Hermione's hand froze in mid-air. The silence in the shop was not anymore disturbed. But she felt that something had shifted in the atmosphere. She knew it was neither Ronald nor Harry because they would have called her. If it was not them, it was an enemy.

 

She put her hand against her mouth and forced herself to slow her breath. She focused on her hearing. Approximately every 6 or 7 seconds, she could hear a faint cracking coming from the floor. It was slowly growing louder.

 

She looked behind her. There was bound to be a door in the back. Only taking small steps in order not give in her position, she went behind the last alley. It was dark, the last shelf so high it was almost blocking all the sunlight, which had already been scarce because of the explosion and of the fire. There was a small door but it looked old. If she used it to get out, she would have to do it fast, because it would probably creak like hell.

 

She made a move for it when she noticed something. The wood floor was not creaking anymore. Her heart started beating faster. Could the enemy hear it ? She noted she had stopped breathing. Good reflex.

 

She frowned. But she could hear breathing. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to scream when an arm snaked around her waist and a hand covered the bottom-half of her face.

 

Hermione could have struggled. But she was shocked and so she remained frozen in fear, tears forming in her eyes. She had known Harry's plans were always shitty.

 

"One mistake," whispered a voice close to her ear making her whimper, "you left one of your hair on the coat you sent into town. And I recognized it."

 

* * *

 

 

Ron ran out of the second building he had set aflame, this time one with less gunpowder, as it was simply the home of an inhabitant, apparently rather fond of guns. He jumped on his horse with ease and joined Harry in his galloping along the main street to scare off the inhabitants. Half of them at least had already fled; the others were probably just trying to find the exit in the commotion.

 

"Harry !"

 

His friend stopped his horse and turned to him.

 

"Yeah ?"

 

"How long's taking 'Mione ? We need to get going !"

 

"I know," frowned Harry, "she's been in there at least fifteen minutes, I don't know what's taking her so long..."

 

"Probably trying to take something that's healthy for us and she can't find nothing suitable," he snorted.

 

The raven-haired man barked a laugh in return although the worry was not gone from his face.

 

"You're right Ron, she _is_ taking too much time..."

 

"Yeah I'll go in there to check in on her."

 

"What about your horse ?"

 

Ron shrugged. "It'll join Hadrian."

 

He climbed off Titus and trotted to the shop. He closed the door behind him and took of the piece of fabric protecting his nose, or at least that was what 'Mione had said it would do.

 

"Hermione ?"

 

He frowned at the lack of answer. It was not like her to feed their worries. Hell she was worried about them all the time. He progressed in the silent shop. The shelves were a mess, bearing the mark of Hermione's passage. She was probably in the back and could not hear him.

 

He unconsciously sped up passing more and more dishevelled shelves.

 

"Hermione ?"

 

When he got to the back of the store, still no trace of his best friend. He frowned. Maybe she had gone out by the back door to get to Hadrian more easily. He tried to find said back door. Finally after a minute of rummaging in the dark, he felt the handle. Then he tripped and crumbled to the ground swearing heavily.

 

"Fucking hell !"

 

He felt for what had caused his fall. It was a bag, canvas. He blanched.

 

"Hermione..."

 

He scrambled to his feet and went straight for the main street not hearing the muffled screams coming from the stock room.

 

* * *

  

"What an idiot," chuckled Tom.

 

The girl no, _Hermione_ , a delicious name for his treat, was struggling in his hold having recovered from her previous panic. She was screaming and trying to kick him. Her efforts proved fruitless, as he had already fought with much bigger and stronger people.

 

He sighed and tightened his hold on her jaw.

 

"Stop moving or I'll strangle you till you pass out."

 

She whimpered, _what a sound_ , and ceased to struggle. Finally, peace. She was proving to be everything he had dreamt of for this moment. Delightful.

 

"I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, do not think I'll hesitate to kill you if you scream," he whispered almost giving in to the temptation of burying his mouth in her hair to do so.

 

Her hair was so wild, already crowding his face and yet, almost not close and crowding enough. He wanted to grab it and pull. But those urges could wait. Slowly, he let his hand fall from her mouth and stopped on the beginning of her neck. She breathed in and out feverishly. She was going mad with the stillness. Let her worry he smirked.

 

"What are you going to do to us ?" she murmured.

 

The storage room was not lit by any light but he could imagine her eyes, full of anger, with a hint of fear, watching him.

 

"Well I don't have all of you right now do I ? So it's just you you should be worried about."

 

He did not expect it, but she spat on him. He almost relented reflexively his hold on her in order to wipe his face. Clever.

 

"Spitting on me is not really doing anything in your favour."

 

"I don't care !" she screamed starting to struggle again.

 

Tom could have done many things to punish her insolence but he heard the door of the shop opening again so he began to squeeze her throat. She gasped and fought to release her arms so she could try to get him to stop.

 

"It's not possible she must have found a hidden room with other supplies, there's no one else in the town !"

 

The voices were muffled but they could distinct the words quite clearly. Hermione had started to struggle more actively despite her lack of breathing. She croaked probably trying to call for help.

 

"Oy ! I heard a noise coming from here !"

 

Tom's jaw hardened. The damn woman was really going to enable her escape with her behaviour. To prevent her from doing so, Tom squeezed harder. Slowly, just as her friends were getting closer, she stopped struggling. When he could feel her form relax against him, he released his hold. Unconscious. Well, that was less fun.

 

He stared at where the door was supposed to be. The steps stopped. If they noticed the door, he was fucked. His Deatheaters were hiding at the saloon, and it would be one against two. Oh and of course, he had lost his gun when someone had knocked into him earlier. As lucky as always.

 

Suddenly, he heard the sound of running footsteps and the door was knocked down.

 

"Well fuck."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yay for updates ! 
> 
> Hope you like this chapter, do not hesitate to review !
> 
> And I've got a Tumblr now : ffourultraviolence

Ron froze on the threshold of the storage room panting. A man, the man who had pretended to be... Lord Voldemort, was holding Hermione captive in his arms. His eyes widened in fear when he saw she was not moving, she was unconscious.

 

"What the fuck ?"

 

"What ? You found her ?" yelled Harry behind him.

 

The raven-haired boy pushed him and froze in turn. He frowned.

 

Tom smirked. If they had so little reflexes, it would be easy to overpower them. He stood, letting the woman slide on the ground. Their eyes remained on her, apparently not realizing he was the danger. They were the prey and he was the predator. His grin turned feral. This was going to be so much fun.

 

He noticed the redhead had a small revolver in the hand.

 

"What did you do to her ?"

 

Tom's head snapped up at the angry yell. The redhead's friend was looking at him, his eyes shared between complete panic and anger. He shrugged, grin still in place.

 

"Oh she's just unconscious, doesn't matter."

 

The man clenched his fists. Tom blinked. He actually looked quite familiar. He did not have the time to ponder on the feeling as the redhead surged towards him. Tom beamed and quickly bent down, letting the strong man stumble upon him and fall to the ground. When he stood again, the green-eyed man was also surging, with the intent of shoving him.

 

Tom was not bulky, he was rather lean, but he was strong. So when his fist landed in the man's stomach, it was only natural for his prey to fall to his knees, breathless. He turned to face his other victim who was trying to get back on his feet but was still stunned. Tom did not wait. He was not a loyal fighter. He was a winning fighter.

 

So he threw a vicious punch in the redhead's face. The man shouted and fell back on the ground, nose bleeding profusely. Tom smirked. There was his revenge for their first meeting.

 

Suddenly he was shoved on the ground. He grunted when his chest met the hardwood floor and glanced at his back. The raven-haired boy apparently made more of a danger than he had thought.

 

Tom turned over and faced him. He was panting heavily, he might not have recovered as much as he thought. He analysed the situation. He needed to regain the upper ground. He threw the boy's legs a nasty kick, sending him tumbling into the ground. Tom then proceeded to crawl to the woman's body, left on the side of the fight.

 

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, quickly covering his body with hers. Well, she was much thinner so it would not have been an efficient shield had she not been friends with his two opponents.

 

He wrapped one of his slender hands around her neck and the other one fixed herself on her relaxed jaw.

 

"If you assault me, I'll break her neck," he stated calmly.

 

The two men stayed in their kneeling position away from him. They were panting, breathless. Tom chuckled internally, he had not lost his breath. Controlling one's breathing was the most important thing to do if one wanted to win a fight.

 

"What do you want ?" spat the redhead.

 

Tom smiled coldly at him, ruthless. "Well, I want all of your heads. After all, I will be paid if I bring you back to the Malfoys."

 

They shared a look.

 

"How do we escape you ?" asked the man with the glasses.

 

"You don't."

 

Tom felt Hermione's pulse quickened under his fingers. She was regaining consciousness. He almost frowned. He did not want to play with his preys there, in a storage room, without much light. He wanted for them to watch him torture her and then have her watch him torture them. This would not do.

 

He slowly rose, holding Hermione with care, only one hand on her jaw now. Her body was still limp although he could feel the muscles of her backside slowly tensing as she came around.

 

"Give me your revolver."

 

The redhead face contorted with anger but he threw his weapon on the ground. Tom quickly picked it and pressed the muzzle against the woman's temple. His other arm was snaked around his waist. He noticed he was much taller than her as the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

 

"Now we're all gonna go in the main street, and we'll see what we'll do then," he smirked.

 

They warily raised their hands to show him they did not intend to attack him. Slowly they backed down the shop and then into the main streets. Tom blinked. The sun had pierced the thick black smoke, once again bathing the main street in its light. A lot of dust was still stuck in the air, waiting to rest again on the reddish road.

 

He glanced at the saloon. His men were behind the windows, watching him and his preys. He gestured with his head for them to come out. As they began to fill out the building, he raised his arm from Hermione's waist, choosing to circle her shoulders in order to prevent any rash movement. He could feel her breath quickening on his forearm. It tingled.

 

His men surrounded her two friends who were still panting and were staring at Hermione. They were afraid for her. Tom was certain her eyes were now opened, her look probably mirroring theirs.

 

He leaned and placed his mouth beside her ear, her delicious, riotous, curls brushing his skin. "I told you no one escaped me. Now we can begin to play."

 

He then gave a sharp nod to his men. Simultaneously, as they had done so many times, they knocked all three of their victims unconscious. Less usual was the way Tom carefully handled her, like he cared if he broke her. But his feral and feverish grin told a whole other story.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione felt dizzy. Her head was pounding and each pound reverberated in her whole body. Slowly she attempted to open her eyes but quickly closed them again. The light on the outside was blinding. What had they done last night ? Why had they set camp in a place with that much sun ?

 

When she came up with the idea of rubbing her eyes to alleviate their soreness, she realized she could not. Her hands were bound in her back. Her eyes snapped open sending a jolt of pain in her brain, flooding it with light.

 

As they recovered, she examined her surroundings. She was relieved to see Harry and Ronald sat in similar chairs and bound in the same manner in front of her. On her right there was a small window showing the main street of Pagosa Springs. She scowled. Blasted village. She glanced to her left. The only furniture of the room was a small bed, neatly made, and a chest of drawers. The door was seemingly closed. She could not see any personal belongings. Judging by the color of the sky, it was approximately late afternoon.

 

"Harry ! Ron !" she whispered trying to lean towards them.

 

The redhead seemed to slowly regain consciousness. That is when she noticed the state of his nose, caked in dry blood. She gasped. The scab was crowned with green, purple and blue. She shook her head and decided to focus on his eyes, she would have the time to heal him when they got out of this shitty situation.

 

"Ron !"

 

Awareness seemed to finally win him over as he focused on her and acknowledgement flashed in his eyes.

 

"Fuck Hermione..."

 

"I know we're in deep... We have to get out ! Soon !"

 

He nodded and turned his face to Harry. Their raven-haired friend was still unconscious, his hair hiding his face turned toward the ground. Ronald began to whisper his name but it did not appear to be succeeding in waking him up.

 

"Fuck, they probably hit him badly..."

 

She swore in turn. She pulled on the rope tying her more forcefully to no avail. Fuck. She could feel tears forming in her eyes. She hated being helpless. She could not be helpless. So she started pulling again, chafing her skin against the coarse material. The burning intensified as she struggled. She whimpered before ceasing her effort and sharing a desperate look with Ronald.

 

"I can't untie myself..."

 

He shook his head. "Me neither."

 

Suddenly hardwood creaked somewhere in the building. Their heads snapped toward the door before turning to each other. She could see the fear contorting her friend's face.

 

"We need to get out of here !" she whimpered hysterically, quickly losing her breath.

 

"It's too late 'Mione, fuck !"

 

They could now hear steps on their storey. She tried to convey all her love for them in a single look at Ronald. Then the door opened and _he_ stepped in. She did not turn to see him, staring solely at Ronald's face. But she recognized the smell she had experienced earlier. He smelled like sweat, smoke, soap and leather. The smoke was preeminent thanks to their little trick.

 

Abruptly he hid Ronald from her view with his body. He was facing him. She raised her head to see his clean black hair curling against his pale neck.

 

"So, who wants to die first ?"

 

She observed his neck movements. He watched Ronald, then Harry. A nauseating sound broke the heavy silence. He had slapped Harry with a harsh movement. She flinched as she heard the whimper of pain of her friend.

 

"I'll repeat. Who wants to die first ?"

 

His voice sent shivers down her spine. It was so cold, blatantly ignoring his violent outburst.

 

"Go to hell you fuck-"

 

Ronald's yell was cut short by the man's fist. The sound, the _cracking_ , it made when it touched his jaw was sickening. Hermione felt bile rise from her stomach. The man sighed.

 

"This is getting tiresome, I don't like to repeat myself."

 

She could see his right hand go into the pocket of his leather coat. She shuddered. She had not managed to see the object he had gotten out, but she had noticed a glint. Her blood went cold as he held out the object, a knife.

 

"Maybe I should kill her first to get you talking."

 

And suddenly he turned and faced her. Her eyes widened. His eyes were dark, darker than she remembered, and they were emotionless, yet something carnal could be seen in them. He seemed manic, dangerous. And he was staring at her.

 

"No don't you fucking touch her !" yelled Ronald.

 

The man kept looking at her before moving to the back of the chair she was tied to. She gasped as she felt his hand delicately sink into her thick hair until it was resting against her scalp. The gesture was almost tender but she could not help but remember the vicious blows he had given her friends. This man was dangerous, a threat, not remotely _tender_.

 

He gave a little tug on her hair and her head fell back as she inhaled sharply. Her throat was uncovered, defenceless. She could hear the chairs of her friends making the hardwood floor creak. They were struggling to escape. But he was holding her frozen in his stare. His black eyes held fire, a consuming kind of fire. And she was drowning, helpless, in it.

 

His lips curled up in a smirk, although the smile never reached the dark abyss of his eyes. She did not blink, but tears were starting to form in her eyes. She frowned. She might be defenceless but she was not going to show any weakness. She got a grip on herself, reigning in her emotions, her fear. If looks could kill, she was quite sure he would be falling dead on the floor. Alas, they could not.

 

So when she felt the cold blade on her naked neck, she scowled, holding back a whimper. She would not give him that satisfaction, not anymore.

 

She thought he would be angered, frustrated, by her lack of fear. But he chuckled. Hermione shivered, it sounded genuine, as though he really thought the situation was funny.

 

"I have to admit that very few people look at Lord Voldemort with so much spite and so little terror... Amusing."

 

He licked his lips and glanced at her friends. She would have liked to see them.

 

"Oh, but _you_ are terrified by my name, aren't you ?" he smiled with eagerness.

 

She closed her eyes. Fuck. She knew his kind of people they fed on fear. She had mistaken him for a man not posing any danger. He was a predator. She needed to reassure them. Even if it was useless. No need to give him release.

 

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

 

She had not opened her eyes but she could almost feel his scorching eyes igniting her skin. She realized he had gotten closer when his chuckle reverberated through her body, low and deep.

 

"Right darling, it does."

 

She felt the freezing blade move up her neck making her breath itch. It finally rested on her burning cheek. She fluttered her eyes open. She could see the glint of the metal, so close to her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from letting out a sob.

 

"But if you heard the stories about me, you should know better than to not be terrified of me."

 

Despite her mounting terror, Hermione decided to say something stupid. Well, as Ronald had once said, she could be short-tempered and acting on impulse rarely led to good things.

 

"We've heard stories of a Voldemort, but nothing proves that you're that guy."

 

She glanced at him. His attention was solely on her. He seemed disturbed.

 

"What ?"

 

"What tells us you're Voldemort ? You could be someone pretending to be him."

 

His smile was positively voracious. She gulped. He leaned closer to her.

 

"I could," he whispered, his cold voice clashed with his smile, "but then... Are you willing to risk it ?"

 

"Don't hurt her !"

 

The man's, _Voldemort_ 's, head snapped up and his eyes narrowed, lips pinching.

 

"Stop interrupting my fun, _boy_."

 

"You can't hurt her please ! Kill us but let her live !"

 

He sighed and looked back at her, trying to convey his boredom, before glancing at them.

 

"Of course I _can_ hurt her, I'm going to hurt all of you, well," he chuckled, "to kill all of you, by the end of the night ! Stop making a fuss."

 

She did not like his light-hearted tone. She was shaken by it as it appeared to soften his cruel words. At this moment, she believed his claim of being Lord Voldemort.

 

The hand in his hair pulled harder, burning her scalp. By sheer reflex, she whimpered, focusing back on him. Looking at his eyes, noticing the feral glint lighting their darkness, she felt that it would be more dangerous for her to look at him than for him to actually hurt her. The hunger that contorted his face made her stomach twist. He seemed to be starving, craving blood and flesh. She was not terrified by his name, but by his look of pure fervent want.

 

Abruptly she felt a burn in her cheek. Her mouth opened in surprise and her eyes widened. He had cut her. She heard the yells of Harry and Ronald. But all she could focus on was the hand holding the knife that got closer to the cut. The fingers delved into the vermillion blood, now dressed in the reddest of dresses. She flinched as a jolt of pain shot through her when he pressed on her scared skin.

 

She could not think when he brought his fingers to his mouth and _sucked_ her blood. He grinned. His white teeth were bloodied.

 

"Delightful."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, obviously, hope you enjoy !

"Delightful."

 

She could not look away from his teeth, dressed in scarlet. He had _tasted_ her blood. That was barbaric. And yet. Something foreign coursed through her body.

 

She glanced at his eyes. They were still on hers, glinting, amused. Distantly, she heard Harry's roar of rage. She could feel the blood running down her cheek, to the nape of her neck, probably lending a coppery tone to it. The flow was heavy but she knew it to be superficial.

 

She was snapped out of her trance as he looked at her friends, grin still firmly in place.

 

"Still doubting I'm Voldemort ?"

 

She did not hear their answers. But she had made up her mind. He had tasted her blood. He was Lord Voldemort.

 

He abruptly let go of her hair and she gasped as her head bobbed back into place. She met the frightened, no, _consumed_ by fear, looks of her friend. Hermione was puzzled, it was only a bit of blood. They should be planning their escape rather than worrying. She heard the man's boots scrape the hardwood as he slowly came into her peripheral vision. Her breath stopped.

 

He did not advance. He stayed by her side, eyes fixed on her best friends. The silence was suddenly cut by the sound of blood, her blood she noted absent-mindedly, dropping, falling and disappearing into the unforgiving ground. She flinched. It was a wet noise. It reminded her of other body's tears, of another moment where blood had dropped on the ground, on earth, making a wet sound, before being devoured by the earth. She looked at Harry. She knew he was thinking about the same thing.

 

"So, who's gonna die first ?"

 

Harry's eyes widened. More scarlet pearls had fallen on the ground. They were both tense. Their bodies remembered.

 

"You can't fucking kill us you fucking bastard !" roared Ronald snapping his friends out of their trance.

 

"Oh yes ?"

 

The voice was cold, cutting. But Ronald was glaring at him with all his might. "Are you fucking daft ? The Malfoys want to kill us themselves !"

 

The air was heavy on their shoulders, Ronald's chest was expanding widely with each breath, as though he had just ran for his life. Lord Voldemort _chuckled_. It was high-pitched and peculiar, monstrously cold. Shivers ran down her spine. She could not see him as he had moved closer to the wall in her back as he laughed. But she could see how Ronald had paled, exacerbating the contrast between the color of his skin and of his freckles.

 

"Oh my, my, you're all feisty aren't you ? I thought I'd only have fun with this one but, I'm quite pleased."

 

Her nose scrunched up. _Having fun_ ? Was that his definition of torturing or killing someone ? Furthermore, Ronald was probably right. The Malfoys were quite snobby and therefore, they might want to keep the privilege of killing them all to themselves. She shuddered at the thought.

 

She jolted as a hand landed on her shoulder. The grip was firm. She clenched her jaw.

 

"I assure you," he drawled, "that I can, and I'm gonna, kill you. All of you. So I repeat my question, who dies first ?"

 

There was a beat of silence as Ronald and Harry glared at him and Hermione stared at them.

 

Her hair was suddenly yanked back eliciting a whimper from her throat. Her eyes were closed but she felt the coldness of the blade graze the nape of her neck. Abruptly, the grip was gone. She panted, fearing the worst. Had he cut her neck ? She could not feel more blood there. That was when she noticed how light her head felt. One look at her best friends confirmed the truth to her. The fucking bastard had cut her hair.

 

"Consider it as my souvenir."

 

She could almost _hear_ the smirk in his voice. Tendrils of hair grazed the nape of her neck. She had never had hair so short. Her mother had liked her hair long.

 

He came back into her vision and stuffed her black, thick and curly hair in the drawer of the small nightstand. Her throat tightened and she felt tears fill her eyes.

 

She refused to scream, to speak. To give him the satisfaction of knowing his gesture, more symbolic than truly violent, hurt her. She looked at the window. The sun was setting. Soon there would not be anymore light. They would probably bring candles so he could still see their blood as he drew it. She scowled at the thought. He would probably not like to miss the show, to miss having fun.

 

"Now, let's begin," he beamed, making her turn her head back to him.

 

She wanted to puke. His beam was so out of place, his eyes fixed on hers unrelentingly. He stood behind Harry. The last rays of light lit half of his face, bathed it in a golden and peaceful shade. The other half was cast in shadows, but she swore she could see the eye, malevolently glinting in the darkness.

 

Her eyes were caught by another glint, the one of his blade, shining like a sunbeam. She began to shake. She could bear to be hurt, she was used to it. What she could not bear was to see her friends get hurt.

 

"Don't touch him," she stated coldly, staring at the shining metal.

 

Her eyes were surprisingly dried as she stared at the predatory man. He was still beaming, seemingly true to his definition of torture, he was having fun.

 

He made a throaty sound, that eerily resembled a human chuckle. It was deeper than the last one, not any less terrifying. It was almost human. But as he threatened one of her best friends, she could not quite believe that he was indeed, only a human.

 

"Even if you begged for it, wouldn't stop me. Although," he seemed to think tilting his head, "maybe if you were on your knees it'd do the job."

 

She clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing at the double entendre. She was not a naive woman. He knew it, based on his wolfish grin.

 

Ronald began thrashing anew, face reddening, eyes widened in desperation. In turn she fought against the rope tying her wrists. It was useless, but it was better than doing nothing.

 

The knife slid across her raven-haired friend. The scream that escaped from Hermione's throat was inhuman, even to her ears. The white shirt of the man was quickly overwhelmed by a vermilion tide.

 

"Harry !"

 

Through her tears, when had she started to cry, she glanced at the man. His smile had widened, and his coppery teeth, coppered by her blood, were shining. She turned her eyes back to her friend whose jaw was hard. He was trying not to make sound.

 

Hermione sobbed. She felt powerless. Then Lord Voldemort went in front of Harry. The deafening sound of bones cracking made her scream again, this time joined by Ronald. She shut her lids tightly, not wanting to witness anymore of it.

 

She could not help but screech as she heard once again the sickening sound of skin against skin, bone against bone. Harry had started to whimper. She moaned, more hurt than when the knife had met her own skin, had drawn her own blood.

 

"Please," she sobbed eyes still closed, "kill me but don't hurt them..."

 

There was no more sound of bone cracking.

 

Suddenly a hand gripped her chin. Dizzy she opened her eyes and stared at his. They were even darker than before, drenched in suffering, relishing in it. At that moment, the certainty of their death hit her. The certainty of failure quickly followed. They would have failed their mission, to find freedom at all costs.

 

"Do not close your eyes again."

 

It was a whisper and his breath fanned out on her face. It smelled of tobacco. But the proximity felt almost intimate and she shuddered uncontrollably. He released her and turned back to the men. Harry's sobs broke the eerie silence.

 

"We need light."

 

The man, the threat, departed without another word, slamming the door behind him. Hermione released a breath she did not know she had been holding.

 

"Harry are you okay ?"

 

She gasped when her friend raised his head. His jaw was dislocated, his skin already littered with blue and purple stains.

 

"Oh fuck," she managed to whisper biting back a sob.

 

He shook his head as though to tell her not to worry. How could she not worry when he looked like that ?

 

" 'Mione !"

 

She turned her teary gaze to her redhead friend. His stare was hard, his jaw set.

 

"We need to get the fuck out. Now."

 

She nodded panting with panic.

 

"When he comes back with candles, we're gonna light a fire, and jump through the window, or we burn the rope. Do you get it ?"

 

"Yes," she whispered, "burn the rope or burn the place and jump."

 

"Okay, I heard horses so we won't have any problem as long as we get down there before they do."

 

All three of them flinched as the floor of their storey creaked.

 

"Don't forget, and we have to do it quickly," murmured Ronald, fire burning in his brown eyes.

 

She clenched her jaw and gave him a final nod. She noted her breath was now calmed.

 

"Look a mess !" he whispered just before the door opened again.

 

She forced herself to pant again, letting her tears fall, in order not to show they might have planned something out. The man crouched in front of her, putting a candle on the floor beside the foot of her chair. He gave her a predatory smirk, setting his now free hand on her knee. Her breath hitched.

 

"I want to see your face when I kill them."

 

Her panic was back as he rose and turned to face her friends. She looked down at the candle. It was close to her feet. If needed, she could knock it over. Ronald and Harry's eyes told her the same thing. Lord Voldemort put one other candle on the nightstand and placed the last one behind Ronald. The redhead eyes lit.

 

"Perfect, now that you can all see each other and enjoy the show, we might finally, really begin !" the man exclaimed in a overly joyful tone.

 

Hermione frowned, had it not already ?

 

She made sure to look at Ronald from the corner of her eyes, seeing him trying to get his bound wrists closer to the flickering flame. But she was mainly focused on the man who was facing Harry.

 

Screams tore the air as Voldemort grabbed his jaw, making sure that she could see her friend.

 

"DON'T TOUCH HIM !"

 

Harry kept wailing, tears freely running down his colored cheeks. His eyes were glassy, dizzy with pain. His howl of pain suddenly died down. Hermione inhaled sharply, understanding he had lost consciousness. How could they escape if one of them was unconscious ?

 

The man seemed bothered with the fainting man as he went to get a bucket that had apparently just been out of the room. As though he had planned on them falling unconscious. He threw the water on Harry's face, effectively waking him up.

 

"It's a show, it's rude not to watch. I'll remind you of what's at stake."

 

Face barely lit, he approached Hermione and grabbed her throat roughly. She gasped, eyes locked on his. He squeezed, slowly augmenting the pressure with each passing second.

 

Harry made a pitiful sound as Ronald screamed her name. She inhaled ineffectively, nothing passing down in her lungs, nothing coming out. Her lips parted again, desperate for a gulp of air. Black dots began to narrow her vision. She could only see his pale face, lit by the candle at her feet.

 

The candle.

 

With what little energy she had left before fainting, Hermione knocked over the candle, making it, though not on purpose, meet the man's pants. His squeeze almost immediately disappeared, his eyes widening and his mouth opening in shock. She inhaled voraciously before giving him a vicious blow in the leg as he stood frozen. With a curse he fell to the ground.

 

She yelled as the flames burning the pants' leg began to grow, devouring the fabric. They were too close to her for comfort.

 

"Hermione !" roared Ronald.

 

She took her eyes from Lord Voldemort. Ronald was standing wrists free and holding up Harry. He sat the raven-haired man back down and rushed to her side, not sparing a glance to their would-be murderer. He undid the knots tying her wrists together.

 

"We got to go," he breathed out.

 

Dazed she nodded and went to help him holding up Harry. That was when she realized the man, the once predator, was screaming. It was a deafening and terrifying sound. His black eyes were wide and frantic. He was madly gesturing to put the fire out. She shivered as Ronald began to step over the window, pulling Harry on his back with a grunt.

 

"Follow us," he groaned.

 

He jumped in the dark street. She heard him landing. It was heavy and not very discreet. They would have to run. She started to step over the window frame but stopped mid-movement. The screaming had stopped.

 

She looked inside the room where only one candle was left. The man, Lord Voldemort, was standing in the centre of the bedroom, his pants disfigured, one leg burned. The flames had died down. His pale leg was exposed, seemingly untouched, although she could see a bit of smoke rising from his ankle. The skin there seemed to have liquefied, turning into wax, sickeningly sticking to the bone. She slowly raised her eyes to look at his face. It was contorted in a monstrous way. In a way, it resembled the dying skin of his ankle. His lips were set in a scowl and his dark eyes were blazing coal.

 

She felt as though she was facing one of the deadly sins, _wrath_. He might not have been on fire anymore but his eyes were devoured by a scorching fervency.

 

"Hermione," he whispered.

 

Her breathing stopped. His stare and his words made her fearful and uncomfortable. Her name on his sinful lips, by his sinful tongue, sounded otherworldly, and tied her stomach in knots.

 

He seemed to be considering her, taking in her probably just as frenzied state. Her red shirt and black pants were in a pitiful state. Her shorter hair was probably crowning her head, frizzing with panic, partly coated in blood.

 

He looked like a madman, she must have looked like a lunatic.

 

She broke the eye contact as running steps could be heard coming, probably to check on their screaming boss.

 

She looked back at him.

 

Abruptly, he lunged for her. But she had seen it coming, and already, she had jumped into the inky night.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione knew fear. She knew it by heart, fear and its whole range of minions : terror, panic, anguish, ... But what she felt when they had escaped, when they were riding in empty plains, was much more than that. She could not find the word for this feeling. But to see Harry struggling to remain conscious as his dislocated jaw jolted with each stride of the horse, she was drenched in a fear she had never experienced. Each one of his whimpers was excruciating for her.

 

She knew Ronald felt the same way. But he was in the front, looking for any ranch where they could get help. They had not dared try to relocate the jaw. They were not doctors and Harry was already hurting too much.

 

Hermione and Ronald had had a heated debate. She wanted to go see a physician. He argued it was too dangerous. Internally she agreed. But their best friend's face was constantly contorted in pain. She was having trouble bearing it. She felt guilty. She should have been the one getting hurt.

 

Ronald had eventually won after Harry had agreed with a nod that safety was their priority. So here they were, galloping across fields and plains, as fast as they could.

 

"Ronald," yelled Hermione.

 

The redhead turned his head towards her. She was taken aback by his paleness. The moonlight turned his usually pink skin to a milky white.

 

"We need to stop..."

 

She glanced at Harry. Ronald nodded, jaw firmly set.

 

"A'ight."

 

He gave a heel stroke to Titus. The horse sped up, head lowering to split the clear and cold air. She imitated her friend. Soon, Claudius joined the new rhythm, without Harry's impulsion. She focused on the sound of the hooves hitting the ground with each stride. She could not look to her right again. Even though it was probably only a work of her imagination, she could hear Harry's teeth clinking with each stride.

 

Finally, a house appeared on the horizon, squeezed in between two steep hills. The wheat field they were in narrowed until it was only a few yards wide, before stopping on the threshold of the ranch. Even though they could not see any, horses were nearby as they could hear them neighing.

 

Hermione breathed out in relief. They were closer to getting help. Ronald led Claudius in the narrow field. She followed suit but before fully stepping into the small valley, she glanced beside them. Until then, her thoughts had been empty except for Harry. Now, a different kind of fear could settle in. They might have been followed. The vast horizon, composed mainly of fields, was bathed in the moonlight. It was a bad night for hiding. A small sliver of red gave away the fact that this night, treacherous as it was, was soon to end. She could not see if anyone was following them. Anyway, she imagined they would not give away their position so foolishly.

 

Shaking her head, she let Hadrian follow Claudius. Getting help was their top priority.

 

* * *

 

Tom was rarely angry. He was often murderous but it was rarely fuelled by pure unaltered rage. That was what he was so good at his job. He was cold-blooded. He could kill someone without any emotional involvement. He was a predator.

 

And yet, there he was, seconds after his prey, preys, had escaped him. His companions surrounded him, panic clear on their face. They doubted him. He could not blame them. After all he had already failed. He had let the woman escape him once before. Not that they knew that.

 

"Get out."

 

He had only whispered, but it was enough as they scrambled out of the room, seemingly conscious that he was incensed with anger. He pondered on that thought, trying to analyse the feeling leeching off him, as he always did for how could you get rid of something if you did not know what it was ?

 

As he thought, he came nearer the small table next to his bed. It was not really anger that he was feeling. He _knew_ rage. He opened the drawer and stared at what was inside it. The feeling that was currently burning his veins like acid had pressured him into cutting _her_ hair. It was not something he had thought about before as he dreamt of torturing her. It had been like instinct. They had disrespected him. And he had felt a sudden craving for her hair as retribution. He wanted her curls.

 

No.

 

He wanted her.

 

Tom closed the drawer with more force than necessary, causing the whole table to fall on the floor. He snarled.

 

Now that he had identified the feeling, or at least it was less imprecise, he could no longer ignore the agonizing craving coursing through his arteries, consuming his body in a fire that exceeded that of the candle.

 

He let out a high-pitched chuckle. She had burned him, hurt him. And she had done so with intent. She was not so pure as she seemed to be, as she wanted to be seen and as she believed herself to be.

 

They were _similar_. Oh, how she would hate that.

 

He sat on the bed, a tight smile gracing his lips. Tom looked at his right ankle. The flesh resembled melted wax. The skin hugged the muscles, they hurt, and the bone. It was atrociously hideous. He felt almost content. She had imprinted herself on him.

 

His contentment died down as he remembered the ridiculously small cut he had given her. He frowned. He would have to do better next time. In order to imprint himself on her. She was _his_ prey.

 

He rose. He could eliminate the parasite feeling by doing that first. Before killing her. He nodded to himself.

 

He turned to face his door, jaw set. His men knew him as infallible. It could not change. He would need to prove himself, not that they would know that would be what he did. And then, they could go on with the chase of Hermione and her bloody shirt and hidden bloodlust. As well as of the two boys with her.

 

Soon, it would all be history.

 

* * *

  

"Help !"

 

She resumed pounding on the heavy wooden door. She hoped there was someone inside. Otherwise who knew how many more miles they would have to travel in order to find assistance ?

 

"There you go..."

 

She glanced at Ronald who was panting under Harry's weight. The raven-haired man had collapsed as soon as Claudius had stopped.

 

Suddenly the door opened. The man who had opened the door looked to be around fifty and was quite plump. He was frowning, apparently, he did not like to be woken up at dawn by complete strangers.

 

"Would ya stop knockin' on the door ? People are tryin' t' sleep in here."

 

As he made to close the door, Hermione slipped her foot in the doorframe, giving the unpleasant man a saccharine smile.

 

"I'm terribly sorry sir but you see our friend here was hurt and we're looking for a physician or anyone who can be of help."

 

The word "physician" seemed to lighten the mood of the man until "be of help" was pronounced.

 

"Don't know any."

 

"Please sir, it's a matter of life and death," she pleaded fighting to keep the door opened.

 

The man gave her a searching look. He glanced at Harry and Ronald, the latter beaming as much as possible in order to seem proper.

 

"I'm a physician, ya can bring him in," he grunted letting the door finally fully opened.

 

She gave him a relieved smile. "Thank you so much sir..."

 

As he went deeper into the dark house, she ushered Ronald in, helping him carry Harry, still unconscious. As they carried him, following the man, his head brushed against hers and she had to fight her instinctive flinch. The unhinged jaw scared her more than she would admit.

 

Finally they arrived in what appeared to be some kind of living room. They quickly sat Harry on the lonely rocking chair neighboring a small bookshelf.

 

"What's his problem ?"

 

"His jaw was dislocated," said Ronald looking suspiciously at the chubby man.

 

Said man hummed and disappeared into another room, leaving them alone.

 

"I don't trust him," whispered the redhead.

 

She glared at him. "We don't have the time for petty arguments like that, it's not like we have a choice !"

 

"Still seems fishy ! Do you trust Harry's health to him ?"

 

"I don't trust Harry's health to anybody but what do you want us to do ?" she hissed.

 

They stopped their conversation as the man came back, cracking his fingers ominously.

 

"What are you going to do ?"

 

"Well," said the man giving them a pointed look, "relocate his jaw."

 

She felt sick. She did not want to see that.

 

"I'm gonna step outside," she murmured.

 

She left the three men alone, and quickly managed to get out of the house in the fresh air. She did not know if it had been the best decision to go outside. She could still imagine what was happening and her fancy probably only made things worse.

 

She came nearer Hadrian and petted him. The horse rubbed lightly against her. She hugged its neck and forced herself to calm her breathing, taking in the smell of sweat and dust. The warm body of the horse felt good against her skin. She realized she did not have her coat anymore. And it was quite cold.

 

She shivered and snuggled closer to the horse.

 

But suddenly, the warmth of the horse's skin became a scorching heat. She hugged him tighter. It was not hotter than the candle's flame. She shivered, flames rung in her ears, inhuman screams danced under her eyelids.

 

She gasped and released Hadrian, almost falling to the ground.

 

The candle had not been the most searing thing. His eyes, his scalding dark eyes, had burnt her like no substance could. She brought her hands to her neck and closed her eyes. Once again, he had squeezed her throat and her air conduct had burnt. Flames had devoured her skin where his eyes and his hands had set.

 

The cold of the night could not cool down her scorched and aflame skin. Looking at the rising sun in the horizon, she felt like looking at herself. Was she not too on the edge of carbonisation ?

 

Silently, she screamed, face contorting in anguish. She wanted to rip off her skin, his looks, his burns.

 

She fell to her knees. She could not understand this acid coursing through her veins tearing her skin apart. She was sure it was neither anger nor fear. Hermione was an intelligent woman and yet, she could not identify this feeling, as it was not a logical one.

 

"Hermione !"

 

Abruptly, the heat left her, leaving her trembling in the cold dawn. She let out a sigh. She was free, for now.

 

She turned and followed Ronald's voice back inside. At least he had not seen her giving in to the unidentified feeling born from their encounter with Lord Voldemort. In the small living room, the physician was rubbing his hands together, smiling as though satisfied with his work.

 

"Good as new," he exclaimed when he saw her.

 

She nodded and looked at her best friend. He was still unconscious but at least his jaw was in the right place again.

 

"Will there be consequences ?"

 

The man shook his head. "Yeah, will probably have bad teeth and other problems with his jaw, bu', ya know, nothing too terrible."

 

"Alright..."

 

"Want some tea ?"

 

"Yeah thanks," smiled Ronald, visibly relieved.

 

As the man left them alone again he turned to her, skin once more slightly more pink than white.

 

"We have to get to San Francisco as soon as possible."

 

"I know," she sighed taking Harry's hand, "but we take so much time to blur our trail that we might take months to get there !"

 

He shook his head. "Exactly. We can't do that anymore. They found us anyway, so why keep hiding ?"

 

"There might be others chasing us."

 

"Yeah," he shrugged, "we'll avoid the major cities but there's no point in doing insane detours anymore."

 

She remained unconvinced. They might have been caught once, but it was not much comparing to how much time they had been on the run. Their method until then had proved itself.

 

"We need to get there quick 'Mione. Staying in the wilderness any longer is just exposing ourselves to more threats."

 

She narrowed her eyes. "We've had more problems in towns than in the forests."

 

"You're right. But look at Harry. He needs to settle down soon. We can't keep on trudging in the wild for much longer."

 

He smiled when he met her gaze. He knew he had managed to convince her. They were her nerve.

 

"When would we leave ?"

 

"Now, we drink his tea, ask him for supplies, and leave !"

 

She frowned. "We can't not pay him, he very generously helped us !"

 

"We have nothing to pay him with."

 

"I'll just have ya names."

 

Ronald's eyes widened almost comically as he realized the physician was looking at them and had probably overheard their whole conversation. She almost certainly mirrored him.

 

"Our names ?" she asked disbelievingly.

 

The physician smiled although it seemed quite fake. "Ya seem t' be runnin' so I guess ya're criminal celebrities. I don't care, just want t' have proof I cured ya."

 

"What good is it to you ?"

 

"Let's just say I've a small ... collection."

 

She laid her hand on Ronald's shoulder. He was tense but he slightly relaxed at the contact.

 

"How do we know you won't give our names out to the first person who comes here ?"

 

He shrugged. "Ya don't."

 

The redhead had been right, he was fishy. She looked at Ronald. Her friend glanced at her and gave her a small nod.

 

"For freedom," he whispered.

 

She agreed. Freedom was everything. Furthermore, the ranch was so remote no one would probably go there before they had arrived in San Francisco.

 

The physician had extended his hand, a wolfish smile adorning his face. Firmly, she took it.

 

She felt like they had just made a deal with the devil. Or at the very least, the lesser of two.

 

* * *

 

Tom sighed in content. Finally he was back in his element. Blood. He dragged his hands, coated in the crimson liquid, down his throat, down his shirt, donning his skin with scarlet arabesques.

 

He would bathe in _her_ blood. Plunge himself into it until he would be close to passing out. His breath stuttered at the thought. He would taste it again, open his mouth and finally give in and quench this thirst.

 

He brought his hand to his mouth. This blood was disgusting. It had the same coppery scent but it was not hers. God he needed her.

 

He opened his eyes and coldly looked at the cadaver in front of him. It was still hot, blood pouring out from each place where he had ripped the skin. He smiled. The mayor was no longer fancying spirits everywhere, he was in their realm. Or, as Tom believed, he was just plain dead.

 

He rose from his seat and took the now half-full bucket of blood, harvesting the crop of Xenophilius Lovegood's life. He crossed the room and opened the door before giving it to Mulciber who had just been waiting outside.

 

"For his daughter."

 

The man smirked although there was a tinge of interrogation in his eyes. Tom knew what he wanted.

 

"No."

 

He closed the door on a dejected Mulciber and turned back to his prey of the night. Judging from the color of the sky it was dawn. They were probably already very far. They would not find them instantly. He smirked. It did not displease him. The chase would only last longer.

 

His smirk fell. He had a better idea. They would wait for the trio, which in his opinion did not deserve the nickname of 'golden trio', in San Francisco. The three of them would drop their guard and he would only have to pick them up in the city.

 

He imagined the look of surprise, of horror, on her face at the realization that she, they, could not escape him.

 

"NOTT !"

 

Immediately the called man opened the door.

 

"Tell the men we're going to San Francisco and that we're leaving right now."

 

Nott frowned. "What about the fugitives ?"

 

Tom sent him a cold look. "Do you think you're in the position to question me ?"

 

"No my Lord, I'll go tell them."

 

"Now."

 

"Yes my Lord," murmured Nott closing the door.

 

Tom turned back to the body. It would decompose slowly. The smell of the rotten blood would be infernal. He took his belongings and locked the door behind him, slipping the key in his satchel. He hated to leave a place without leaving a trace of his passage. The corridor was empty, he could hear his Deatheaters preparing their imminent departure. Absent-mindedly, he stroked the hair barely poking out of his leather bag.

 

* * *

  

Hermione wrote their names on the physician's book, teeth clenched. The man was looking at her hand over her shoulder. It was quite uncomfortable.

 

"There," she spat, quickly joining Ronald who was carrying Harry. "Can we have the supplies now ?"

 

"The satchels in the kitchen dear," smiled the man examining their names.

 

They did not wait and took the heavy pouches before exiting the house. Ronald was panting.

 

"Fuck we got to wake him I can't keep carrying him around !"

 

She nodded and went back into the house looking for some cold liquid.

 

"Here dear."

 

She gnashed her teeth. Now that she had actually written their names down, the man turned out to be quite insufferable. The deal had unsettled her. She took the bucket of cold water from his hands. She was about to exit again when she turned to the plump physician.

 

"What's your name ?"

 

The man smiled. "I'm glad ya ask, I'm Horace Slughorn."

 

She nodded, feeling as though the deal was slightly fairer. They were still putting themselves in more danger than him but it was something.

 

"Bye mister Slughorn."

 

"Goodbye !"

 

She left the house. Ronald was holding Harry in front of him like a shield. She supposed he was one, protecting the redhead from the water. Without a word, she threw the frigid liquid on her best friend. The man instantly woke, falling to the ground panting.

 

"Welcome back," chuckled Ronald.

 

"Where... where are we ? My, my jaw ?"

 

"We'll tell you everything on the road," smiled the redhead, "we're going to San Francisco."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter !
> 
> I just wanted to share an interesting theory that was submitted in the comments : there would be another Voldemort (the one responsible for Harry's parents' murder) and it would be Tom Riddle Sr. I won't say anything about it but don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts on it ! 
> 
> If your have more theories, there's always my Tumblr account : ffourultraviolence.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is getting more and more violent whether it is in the themes that are broached or some of the scenes. If you're uncomfortable with that kind of thing or underage, please, do not read it.
> 
> Nonetheless, the reality of our world cannot always be seen through rose-tinted glasses. I do not pretend to write about reality either but I won't sugarcoat the story. The Wild West was not a kind and forgiving place.
> 
> Anyway I hope you like this new chapter ! As always don't hesitate to review and to ask me questions on my Tumblr : ffourultraviolence

Draco Malfoy was the son and sole heir of an immense fortune, that of his father, the great Lucius Malfoy, mayor of Hogsmeade and owner of the most profitable and large cotton plantation of the city.

 

But still, he was melancholic. After all, the woman he cherished, or at least desired, had escaped the plantation and therefore, had escaped him. She had fled with her dumb friends, refusing to become his mistress. He still seethed when the memory resurfaced. She should have welcomed his proposition with eternal gratitude. But no, the minx had acted _disgusted_ and had spat in his face as if her repulsion was real.

 

As though he could ever elicit disgust from a woman.

 

So when she had ran away with three of his father's horses, he had been enraged. His wife Astoria had not understood what had brought this anger that coursed through his veins and burned him. He had been humiliated.

 

For once, he had felt as though he had been on the receiving end of the whip. Of course, it was metaphorical. Malfoys were always on the good end of the whip.

 

But Draco Malfoy was not an idiot. He soon realized that it was his chance. He could take his revenge. And he could make her his. So he had convinced his father to employ one of the best bounty hunters in the country, Lord Voldemort. Alas, his father had been the one to give the orders and so, he had ordered the ruthless man to kill the three fugitives, two of which were legally his slaves.

 

Draco had then sent a letter to Lord Voldemort in order to rectify the directions. He was to kill the two men, and torture them if they had laid a hand on his property, and then he had to bring her back to the farm in Hogsmeade.

 

The letter was sent with the best dispatch rider of the town, who knew how to track people quite effectively, Blaise Zabini. It had been three weeks.

 

And so, the Malfoy heir was in the sunroom, taking tea with his lovely, pale, insipid wife. He breathed in contentedly looking at the slaves working in the plantations, black necks bent under the weight of the sunbeams. He smiled. Soon, she would be back to him. And he would never let her escape anymore.

 

"Darling ?"

 

He turned his focus back to Astoria. "Hum ?"

 

"Will you bring little Scorpio to Greenville this afternoon ? He's dying to go see the horses you're going to buy soon."

 

Draco nodded, not paying much attention to his wife's words. It was always the same bland and tasteless logorrhea, usually about their son, barely more than a year old and already just as much a nuisance as his mother.

 

"Sure darling."

 

The blond gave him a soft smile. He faked one in return, thoughts solely focused on the memory of Hermione, the taste and sight of her delightfully scarred skin. He sipped his tea. He could wait a few more weeks if it meant having her for all eternity with him.

 

He would pay Lord Voldemort triple if her brought her in the following month. And if he brought the heads of her two companions with him. 

 

* * *

 

 

They had finally arrived in San Francisco. Yet, Hermione was in a bad mood. Harry had tried to braid her hair in order to soothe her nerves and her guilt. It had been a disaster. She looked even more of a fright than usual.

 

But she had to admit that the boys' joy was contagious. They all marveled at the bustling streets, the colorful crowd overflowing the city with noise and fabric. They were overwhelmed by the smell of horses' dung, beer, earth and perfume. It was rich and wonderful and it drowned them in the decadence of San Francisco.

 

They meandered in the Main Street, eyes and mouth wide. It was a long alley and it was always drowned in the sea of inhabitants. Most of them talked English but Hermione identified Spanish and other Native Americans languages. The buildings were built in wood and the original color of the facades could not be seen as the dust of the road covered them.

 

The sun burnt the yellowish ground and their exposed necks. Everyone was at least tanned. People seemed to always be in a hurry except for the whores who kept whistling at the inhabitants from the windows of the brothel they worked in. They were many pleasure houses. Too many to make San Francisco a town of morals.

 

To the great displeasure of Hermione, Ronald was not completely unmoved by the whores and the sight of their luxuriant white skin, flattered by their colorful clothes and their curled hair.

 

"Ronald, stop ogling," she hissed.

 

Immediately her friend's face reddened as far as his hair's roots.

 

"Wasn't ogling," he mumbled adverting his gaze back to the front windows of the many shops.

 

Harry chuckled. "Yeah you were."

 

The red deepened eliciting a soft laugh from Hermione who shook her head.

 

"I'm not hurting anybody am I ?"

 

"We could go there tonight if you want ?"

 

Hermione turned to glare at her raven-haired friend.

 

"We're not going to a brothel," she spat.

 

He shrugged. "We're free, we can."

 

Her jaw tensed. The freedom defense was always a good way to convince her. But she had trouble seeing what freedom had to do with visiting a brothel.

 

"We're not exploiting those women any further."

 

"Fuck off 'Mione !" exclaimed Ronald. "Have some fun !"

 

"What if we free them ?"

 

Harry gave her a pointed look with an encouraging smile. Of course his idea was good. In theory. What good would it make if they freed them and then they would have to fight for their food, or would be raped, or killed ? There was no easy solution. She did not like it.

 

"You didn't say no..."

 

She sighed. "It's a bad idea..."

 

" 'Mione, we need to hide, Ron and I can hide with other men and try to dig up some gold but you... You need some place where you can be safe."

 

She snorted. "Yeah and a brothel is _such_ a safe place !"

 

"Safer than the street or a shop where one can just enter, no one will think to look there."

 

She stared at Harry disbelievingly. "Are you seriously suggesting that I hide in a _brothel_ ?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"You must be joking," she scoffed, "do you think I can do that without having to have sex with clients ?! Do I have to remind you one of the reasons we escaped !"

 

As Harry and Ronald stepped back, she realized she had raised her voice to a shrill pitch. She glanced around. No one had paid them any attention. It was one of the many advantages of being in a big city. She guessed it was also a peril to add to the list.

 

"I know 'Mione but, what do you suggest ?" he whispered.

 

She could not bear his fond and worried look. She knew Harry meant no harm. He rarely did, and never to her. But to think about going in a brothel and to have to have sex again without her even wanting to... The thought was revolting. She could already feel her stomach contract and a small nausea spread in her body. Fortunately, they had not eaten in three days.

 

"I don't know..."

 

As Hermione closed her eyes to contain any tears that might fall without her consent, she felt two pair of arms circling her and engulfing her in the warmth of their owners. They drew large circles over her back, killing the sobs before they even made it past her throat.

 

"You can come with us to the river if you want," murmured the redhead as his breath fanned over her neck.

 

She shivered and shook her head no. She knew Harry was right. It was for her safety. Bounty hunters were bound to look for them in common shops, hotels and so on. If they looked in brothels it was because they wanted a whore. No one hid in brothels.

 

"No," she whispered, "Harry's right, I just... I just want to be completely free."

 

They broke their embrace regretfully, but they could not stay hugging in the middle of an active street. Her gaze remained firmly on one of the shop windows behind the two boys. She did not cry easily, but after evoking their past, she did not want to tempt it.

 

"I'm sure if we ask them the whores will protect you," stated Ronald, "after all, you kept talking about feminine solidarity back in Hogsmeade."

 

She smiled. For all his insensitive talk, he always remembered what she cared about, what she rambled about.

 

"Yeah, I did."

 

The two boys gave each other a look as though she was a porcelain figurine you had to tread around carefully. She laughed softly and hit them lightly on their arms.

 

"I'm fine, we can go and look."

 

As they nodded enthusiastically, she sighed and buried the memory that had resurfaced, deeper than before. She hoped she would never have to face it or the reality it carried again.

  

* * *

 

 

Tom did not like San Francisco. He did not like it one bit. They had been there for about a week and he had already run into more than ten acquaintances. Today, he had decided to stay in his room in order to avoid anymore-unwelcome meeting. His men roamed the city looking for the three fugitives. He had given strict orders to Mulciber, who was in charge of staying posted in front of his door for the day, not to let anyone enter.

 

Of course, in the middle of the day, someone knocked on his door. He raised his head from his journal and stopped writing.

 

"What ?" he asked sharply.

 

The door opened slightly letting way to Mulciber's stout and stupid face. "There's someone for you my Lord..."

 

"What did I say about potential visitors ?" answered Tom through gritted teeth.

 

"He says the Malfoys sent him."

 

His spine straightened. So it was from his employers. He could not tell him to piss off. He hated having employers. But, well, it was the cost of legal 'crime'. He nodded and swiftly put his journal back in the small desk's drawer before bringing his hands on the table. Absently, he rubbed the small scars littered on their backs, red striking with his paleness.

 

Mulciber opened the door and a tall man entered. He looked confident. His skin was tan and his posture arrogant. Tom did not stand to greet him. It perturbed the man who was probably more used to polite British aristocrats than people of Tom's type.

 

"Lord Voldemort," he greeted slightly lowering his head.

 

Tom nodded in return and kept staring at the man. He was dressed in nice clothes although they were more fit for cities such as New York or Greenville than the dusty and vulgar town of San Francisco.

 

The man seemingly understood that Tom would not do anything overly polite or welcoming so he took one of the small chairs and sat in front of the bounty hunter. His confidence had yet to waver.

 

"I have a letter for you."

 

Tom raised his eyebrow. The Malfoys had gone as far as sending a man to get a message to him. It must have been important. He snatched the letter from the man. Quickly he opened it and read it. He frowned. He had never liked being given orders but at least he was usually okay with their content. But the small missive written in perfect cursive bothered him. He did not want to bring his Hermione to the Malfoys.

 

He raised his head to look at the dispatch rider. They both knew what the note meant, and on what past it relied on. Unconsciously he clenched his jaw, thoughts of her being the mistress of one of the Malfoys pervading his mind.

 

"Who sent you ?"

 

"Draco Malfoy."

 

So it was the son. It did not surprise him. He had barely seen him when he had been requested to go to Malfoy Manor but he remembered him from previous visits. From Tom's vantage, he was a spoiled brat and all the more bothersome that he was temperamental. The image of his platinum hair spread across Hermione's skin flooded his mind. His jaw ticked.

 

"Right," said Tom tone clipped, "you can tell him I have received the message and will take it into account."

 

The man nodded but remained seated as though he wanted to hear something else.

 

"Yes ?"

 

The dispatch rider gave a Tom a sweet smile, sickening.

 

"When do you think you'll be back in Hogsmeade with the girl ?"

 

Tom blinked. He was surprised that the confidence of the man lived on. After all, he, Lord Voldemort, was not someone you usually gave dissimulated orders to.

 

"As soon as I capture her, of course."

 

The man's eyes narrowed, irking Tom further. His blood started to boil in his veins eating away his patience. Needless to say he had not much patience to start. He could picture _Draco and Hermione_ together. He was set aflame by an unknown force which gnawed at him.

 

"Sir Malfoy would like for you to bring her _as soon as possible_."

 

The tone was authoritative. Tom's hand jerked in direction of the gun on his belt. He restrained himself and instead smiled at the man.

 

"I assure you Mr. ... ?"

 

"Zabini."

 

"Mr. Zabini, that I am more than competent."

 

"My employer and I doubt it."

 

He sucked in a breath. Would Malfoy be pissed off if he killed this cockroach, this man that dared presume he could judge Tom's abilities to track and capture someone ? Did he care if Malfoy was pissed off ?

 

"I beg your pardon ?" drawled Tom icily.

 

Zabini did not cower but continued to stare into Tom's eyes. People who could handle Lord Voldemort and remain unfazed in front of him were rare. When he met them, he was used to quickly eliminating them altogether.

 

"I said, that we doubt your reputation Mr. Riddle. We wanted Lord Voldemort because he was competent, and yet, it's been _weeks_. My employer is not a patient man Mr. Riddle."

 

 _Mr. Riddle_. Tom paled considerably, he had felt the blood draining from his face. He could hear the contempt in Zabini's voice.

 

"I don't know if you heard about me Mr. Zabini," softly whispered Tom, "but I am not a patient man myself. And I hate to hear my abilities questioned."

 

"Then prove your abilities. I'll stay in San Francisco a week before leaving for Hogsmeade. If you don't leave with me, you can kiss your pay goodbye."

 

The man rose and gave one last scornful look to Tom before leaving.

 

As soon as Tom heard the front door of the establishment close behind the despicable man, he pulled his pistol out and shot in his wardrobe. Panting, he lowered his gun. He frowned. He had not hit his target, a small stain on the wood. He shot again, and again, until the wardrobe's door's hinges cracked under the pressure and let the door fell to the ground.

 

His usual therapy had not worked. Scalding insects, which clearly intended to devour him, were burning his skin. He needed to find _her_.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey sweetheart, don't you want an hour alone with me ? We got nice rooms upstairs and I would love to go into one of them with you..."

 

Hermione hit Ronald's head as her friend stared dumbstruck at the stunning woman winking at him.

 

"Focus," she whispered furiously.

 

She took him by his sleeve and proceeded to pull him with her. The first floor was crowded. There was a bar facing the entrance and several, not much-dressed, women were sitting on it, laughing loudly to men's words. Others danced lively to the pianist's joyful air. All of them were in different colors from peony pink to lemony green. The smell of smoke, beer, sweat and sex invaded Hermione's nostrils.

 

If Harry and Ronald seemed quite enthusiastic about the place, she guessed it was because they would not potentially have to hide there.

 

"Her," murmured Harry to her, discreetly pointing to a quiet blonde who was sat in the corner.

 

Hermione nodded. They had to start off somewhere. The three of them moved with purpose across the brothel. As they passed a man feeling up one of the waitresses, she shivered. She did not like it one bit.

 

Finally they were facing the woman. She was dressed in faded pink. The neckline was low-cut and gave a good view of her ample milky bosom. Hermione blushed and forced herself to only look at the girl's eyes. She was a human being not a thing ! Ronald stood gaping, not bothering to hide where his looks converged while Harry smiled at the girl, not giving her cleavage any attention.

 

"Hi nice to meet you," he said shaking the blonde's hand.

 

She nodded, eyes narrowed. "I don't do groups."

 

Hermione's blush spread. She was not feeling well. She was not a prude but still.

 

"Oh," chuckled Harry, "we're not here for that !"

 

"Well he is," snorted the woman glancing at the redhead.

 

Ronald mirrored Hermione although his blush was more visible than hers.

 

"No, no I'm not..."

 

She turned back to Harry. "What do you want ?"

 

"I need to hide."

 

The blonde's brown eyes focused on Hermione for the first time. She frowned.

 

"In a brothel ?"

 

"I _really_ need to hide."

 

"We wondered whether or not you could help us ?"

 

"Who are you hiding from ?"

 

"A man who still thinks I'm his slave," spat Hermione, eyes blazing furiously.

 

The curly-haired woman straightened as her two best friends sucked a nervous breath in. She would not cower in a shame that was unjustified. Furthermore, she guessed that telling the truth might compel the woman to help her. Unsurprisingly, she was right.

 

"I'm Lavender," smirked the blonde shaking Hermione's hand. "And nobody owns me or owns anybody here."

 

Hermione answered the girl's determination with a grin of her own. Already, she felt safer. Albeit the conditions of her hiding would not be perfect, but then, could they ever be ?, she guessed it was better than running in the forests for weeks before seeing other human beings.

 

"I can protect you when I'm on break and when I'm not another girl can do it. You can stay in our dormitory."

 

Her eyes widened. "I won't have to work here ?"

 

Lavender scowled, "Course not ! You're hiding, not looking to earn money ! Women need to help each other in this men's world !"

 

Hermione beamed and hugged the blonde tightly. It probably did not mean much to the girl but to her, it was a lifesaver.

 

"Thank you," she whispered in the girl's golden locks.

 

"It's nothing."

 

They released each other. Harry squeezed her shoulder and gave her comforting smile. Finally, she could give him one in turn.

 

"So, safe ?"

 

"Yeah, safe."

 

The three of them hugged in front of a smiling Lavender, her smile sweeter than it had previously been. As Hermione let out a low chuckle, she thought that in a few days, weeks at most, they would be so free, that they would not need to hide anymore. They would be freer because they would show their freedom.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Ron was tired and excessively sweaty and terribly hungry. He glanced at his companions. All of them but Harry were still knee-deep in the river, eyes riveted to the rippling surface of the water and the earth they extracted from the bed of the river. He scowled. It all seemed fucking useless to him. Just because one guy had once found a nugget did not mean they would all find one.

 

Harry gave him an understanding look. His posture betrayed his exhaustion.

 

Ron straightened, grimacing as his spine cracked, and gestured to the bank. Harry followed him on the land and they sat heavily on the dusty ground. They absent-mindedly watched the gold-diggers, digging, but finding no gold.

 

They were at least a good twenty men with their calves and forearms sunk into the dirty water. The liquid was not as pure and crystalline as they had seen it in the forests they had crossed, it carried along elements from its bed moved by other gold-diggers upstream.

 

"Hope 'Mione's doin' alright."

 

Harry set a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave a sympathetic squeeze.

 

"I'm pretty sure she is. Our 'Mione's a fighter after all."

 

Ron turned towards his best friend and gave him a small smile.

 

"Yeah, I suppose she is."

 

"Better than you even !" teased the raven-haired man, "she gave a blow to Voldemort !"

 

The redhead chuckled. "Well at that time she wasn't sure it was him."

 

Harry snorted. "Yeah, when she knew it was him she actually set him on fire, I'm not worrying too much about her."

 

"I don't know, she's still trying to forget the past."

 

"Why shouldn't she ?" tensed Harry.

 

Even though Ron noticed the sudden tension in his friend, he believed he was right.

 

"Because she needs to confront it to get stronger ! Otherwise if one day we're face to face with a similar situation, she'll just freeze !"

 

The raven-haired man frowned. He understood his friend's logic and yet... He knew it was impossible to ask of her. He himself had trouble remembering his past without shoving it right back in the dark recesses of his brains.

 

"We'll just have to hope we're never face to face with such a situation."

 

Ron sighed. Hope seemed to always end up being their plan. But it was often, more often than they admitted, that it failed. Because, contrary to Harry's core beliefs, hope, was not infallible. It was a strength. But it could also be a weakness.

 

He looked back at all the men crouching in the water, clinging to the feeble hope they would find some gold one day. No, hope was not infallible.

 

* * *

 

 

Tom spat the tobacco. It left a foul taste in his mouth. He scowled. He did not understand the smashing success of the product. In the streets of San Francisco, there would always be someone spitting out their tobacco, and usually popping a bit more into their mouth right after.

 

He did feel relaxed but still, the aftertaste proved it was not worth it.

 

He swiftly entered the Saloon of the town, as busy as ever, filled to the brim with onlookers gulping down alcohol and coffee as though it was milk.

 

He leaned on the oak counter between two men and gave a meaningful look to the bartender. Tom had already been to San Francisco and a few people knew his reputation. The bartender, Severus Snape, was one of them.

 

"Coffee."

 

The greasy-haired man nodded and set to work. As he did, Tom turned around to search the crowd. The girl and her accomplices might be there. After all, the two men did not seem too bright.

 

Nothing. Only plain and dirty faces. People looked sullen, angry or right down sad. They looked like every other people in major cities he had been into.

 

"Here," grunted Snape as he set in front of Tom a small tin cup full of coffee.

 

The strong smell of the beverage assaulted his nostrils and elicited a smile from him. He nodded in thanks to the bartender who only stiffly returned the gesture before going back to serving customers.

 

As Tom downed the black liquid just like the person sitting next to him downed his whiskey, he heard the voice of the man from the day before. _Zabini_.

 

He snarled and set the tin cup down. Yesterday he had managed not to react impulsively. He had been taken off guard by the contents of the letter. He had lost control of the situation and it had kept him from hitting the messenger.

 

But the overly confident voice was not something he could handle that way twice.

 

Slowly, he turned to face the source of the sound. Sure enough, the smug man was sitting at a round table. Tom could only see his profile. He was laughing, probably at a joke one of the other men at the table had made.

 

He seemed just as insufferable as he had the day before. He brought his hands together and cracked his knuckles. The sound was music to his ears, a preview of what was to come.

 

The man would regret ever doubting Lord Voldemort's abilities and demanding _the girl_ of him. As though someone could ever demand something of Lord Voldemort. That little idiot of a Malfoy should be happy that Tom merely deigned to take up the task set up for him. He should not demand things of him. No one should.

 

"Not in my saloon," whispered Snape furiously.

 

Tom grinned at him and raised his eyebrows. He knew that even though Snape was serious, he would not do anything if Tom indulged in fighting in his saloon. He would watch and, as he did last time, discreetly brag that Voldemort had gotten into a fistfight in his saloon.

 

So he rose, eyes once again fixed on Zabini, ignoring the swearing of the crooked-nosed man. Slowly, like a predator looming over its prey before finally leaping, he approached the man. As he did, the laughter at the table died out until his prey, his future victim, a delightful title, turned towards him.

 

Even though the man was tanned, Tom swore he had blanched at the sight of him. He felt his skin pulsing with excitement. The fear tinting the man's black eyes was thrilling. Oh, how he loved to be a source of fear. He craved terror.

 

"Zabini," he drawled, vitriolic, "fancy seeing you here."

 

Tom's eyes widened as the man looked back to his friends as though to ask for help. So he had been right, his confidence had been faked. _No one_ could remain unaffected when confronted to him. Adrenaline surged through him. He loved being himself.

 

"Hello Riddle," snarled Zabini, "I could say the same for you."

 

Tom drank the hesitation. It was like the best alcohol warming his veins and setting his muscles ablaze. His show of confidence was not so successful now. He wanted him to be writhing on the ground, in a puddle of his own blood.

 

He extended his hand with a smile. It was close enough that it seemed genuine, and yet far enough that Zabini would have to raise to shake it lest he twisted grotesquely in his chair. The man, whose face showed his dread, chose to appear polite and as genuine as his future assailant. He rose.

 

Tom took a deep breath in and smirked. They locked hands. As Zabini was left-handed, he had extended his left-hand as well. And the rest happened in seconds. After all it was not Tom's first fistfight.

 

He pulled fleetly sending the man off balance and sent his right fist straight into his nose. The Malfoys's employee sprawled on the ground with a yelp and immediately checked his broken nose. Bubbling blood covered his immaculate hands.

 

Tom grinned and kicked him. Viciously. He imagined kicking at the Malfoy brat, at the two idiots traveling with _her._ And he did not stop doing so until men were pulling him from Zabini's whining form. When they managed to get him outside, he shook out of their grasp and smiled at them. They looked at him in shock. He laughed manically. They had probably thought him drunk.

 

He wiped the sweat of his forehead, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. He did not care. He rather liked blood. Curious, he tasted the vermilion liquid still on his fingers, fresh and hot. He grimaced. It was unlike hers. He did not like it.

 

He spared one last glance towards the gaping men. Was there so little life in San Francisco that _this_ left them dumbstruck ? He shrugged. He did not have the time to care. He had to find her. And the two morons following her. Oh how he would enjoy killing them. Then, would she not only have him ?

 

The men he left gaping in front of the saloon were unsettled by this foreigner's wicked smirk after being so unaffected by sheer violence.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione sighed. She was sprawled on Lavender's bunk bed in the whores' dormitory. It was scarlet. The color matched her own shirt. That was all the intellectual material Hermione had been left with. Colors of the rooms. And fabrics. But she had left that material for the next day. Best not to burn through all of it too quickly.

 

A snore echoed through the room. She winced and glanced at the woman responsible for the quite disgusting noise, Parvati. She had never heard such sounds made by sleeping people before. But then, she had always been quick to fall asleep. Except that today, she had already slept nine hours, some type of record, and she felt itchy and fretful. She wanted to move.

 

So she stared at the snoring woman. She was pretty she supposed. Apart from the gaping mouth. Was that drool ?

 

"Ew," whispered the bushy-haired woman with a frown.

 

Not wanting to face the quite disgusting vision anymore, she turned towards the plain wall. She sighed. She started to once again count every crack of the paneling.

 

Suddenly the grating of the door opening resounded. Hermione's nose scrunched up and she tensed. She knew she was not supposed to be here. Only Lavender, and Parvati one of her colleagues that had seen her, knew. And now well, slept on it.

 

Apparently, the woman did not care, or was too tired to do so, because she closed the door and went straight to one of the beds. Hermione heard fabric falling on the ground and then sheets being rustled. A few moments later, she joined the snoring orchestra.

 

The bushy-haired woman grunted in the thin pillow.

 

She hated this place. She should have gone with Ronald and Harry, surely there were other women up there and she would not have seem too out of place ! She chided herself. Of course there were no other women. This world and society did not accept women as physicians or almost any job. There would not be many female gold-diggers. Just as they were not many male prostitutes.

 

She fucking hated her life right now.

 

* * *

 

 

"Where would you hide if you fled from the law ?"

 

The woman in front of him frowned and took a step back. "Is there a p'oblem si' ? 'M I in t'ouble ?"

 

He sighed. Common people were so easy to scare it was not enjoyable at all. It only made them much less useful to him.

 

"No, you're not. Please answer the question ma'am."

 

The woman gave him a suspicious look and readjusted her stance and the position of the wicker basket perched on her hip.

 

"I neve' think nuthin' 'bout that si'."

 

"I never implied you did," he stated coldly.

 

It was taking too long. Why had he had the idea of interviewing women to know where one would hide in San Francisco ? He was better than that. But still. He needed to find her _fast_. Before Zabini or some other bounty hunter. Random guesses were not good enough. He needed educated ones.

 

"Guess I'd go to a shop o' sumethin' like that."

 

Useless. As though it had not been one of his first ideas. His men had started checking every store in the city since yesterday. So far the search had stayed fruitless.

 

"Or ?"

 

Her face twisted into a scowl."I've sumewhe' to be si'. Scuse me."

 

He reluctantly let her go in the main street. He followed her in the main artery of the city and looked in the crowd. He still hoped he would find her by chance. Perhaps just that way. He squinted. The sun was high and bright in the sky. It warmed his skin.

 

He looked for the comfort of shadow, not wanting to turn red. A reddish skin did not appeal to him as much as a bloody skin. And to be truthful, his bloody skin was not appealing to him at all. He took shelter under the front window of the barbershop.

 

He scowled at the sight in front of him. Men on their knees to sin. _Brothels_. He had always hated those, contrary to his men. Tom would rather have 'acquaintances' in most of their regular towns than lower himself to go look for a quick fuck in a brothel. Noticing Mulciber groping a giggling whore, he sighed and adverted his gaze.

 

He needed to find them. Maybe he should go to the sheriff. At least for the two boys. That way he would even kill them, legally. After all, they were criminals. All three of them. If the sheriff of San Francisco was the least bit competent, it meant much less work for him. He smiled. He could dedicate himself to _her_.

 

But where to find her ?

 

* * *

  

Hermione was so bored she had started to mentally list plants she knew. It was pointless and not completely un-bothersome but it did the job of distracting her. Once again, the door cracked as it opened and she turned towards the wall to hide her face. Of course, her hair was quite different from Lavender's but the woman had told her everyone would be too tired to notice. And that should worse come to worse, Parvati would step in to protect her. What a joke. Parvati had been sleeping, and now snoring, ever since she entered the room.

 

"Hermione !"

 

She jumped and yelped. A hand settled on her shoulder. She glanced at its owner and breathed out in relief. The blonde woman was smirking.

 

"Bit tense aren't you ?"

 

Hermione made place for her on the cot and Lavender sat down beside her.

 

"You finished your shift ?"

 

"No," whispered the woman looking at her colleagues, "I just wanted to check in on you."

 

"That's nice. I'm fine. Bored but fine."

 

"Well safety is rarely exciting."

 

She nodded although she had trouble agreeing. She had rarely been in safety. She did not know much about it.

 

"You could walk a little in the back if you want. It opens on a small street where there's rarely anyone."

 

She frowned. "If there's no one, is it safe ?"

 

"Well, not if the one person looking for you enters the same street. But that's like, improbable."

 

"Can I go into the main street ? Just for a moment."

 

Lavender gave her a pointed look. "And you think _that_ 's safe ?"

 

She shrugged. "At least there's people around, can't do much. Plus harder to notice me."

 

"Sweetie, you're pretty noticeable."

 

She knew it was true. And still, the temptation to move around a bit, even if just for a moment, was too much. She took Lavender's hands in her own.

 

"Please, I swear I won't do it again for like five days !"

 

The woman's lips thinned as she visibly thought it through. Finally she nodded positively. Hermione let out a small squeal of joy. She would get out of this room ! Finally ! Of course, she had only been there for a few hours but her whole life had been in open spaces, at least during the days. She needed the sun, the dust, the crowd.

 

"But," whispered Lavender, "I'll stay by the window the whole time and you'll have to come in as soon as something seems fishy, alright ?"

 

Hermione gave a bob of the head. It was frenetic. She could feel a throbbing she had chosen to ignore before grow and grow.

 

"Sure. Everything you want."

 

Lavender took her hand in her own and rose, ushering her towards the small door. Hermione carefully pushed the door that gave in easily though creaking loudly. She slipped into the small corridor leading to the main room. No one was there to notice them. Lavender took the lead and entered the bustling room.

 

"Now make a line for it," she whispered into her ear.

 

Hermione nodded determinedly and executed the order. Customers and whores alike were too busy exploring each other to notice her. She slipped past them and finally, she pushed the main door and walked onto the beaten earth ground of the main street. A beam bloomed on her lips.

 

She felt free. She would have liked for Harry and Ronald to be with her. She glanced around her. People paid her no mind. She heard a sweet blend of laughing, shouting, whispering, and no, absolutely no snoring. She burst out laughing. It felt good.

 

More importantly, she felt safe in the thick crowd. She felt hidden and successfully so. She was not a tall woman anyway. Still, her hair was poking out of the crowd now that it had been cut short. But nobody would be out there looking for her based on her hair would they ?

 

The feeling of safety disappeared as quickly as it had come. What had she been thinking ? Voldemort had recognized them from a single one of her hair in Pagosa Springs. Her beam died out and all she could hear now was the overwhelming roar of the crowd. She felt the air being drained from her lungs. Everything seemed to converge towards her while simultaneously diverging.

 

Her eyes widened. The air came back and hit her full force. She stumbled back kicking a man in the leg. He swore. She did not notice.

 

For a few yards in front of her was Lord Voldemort, cold, statuesque, _absurd_ amongst common people. She almost screamed when he turned more in her direction. But she was frozen in place. She wanted to force people to hide for she knew the man to be more than dangerous. He was more than threatening. He was a sinister, mesmerizing and feral presence.

 

He did not notice her.

 

Her eyes narrowed. He was talking to a brutal looking man. His chin was covered with a black stubble. His eyes were dark, even darker than Voldemort's but not in the same way. Voldemort was lethal, this man was crude.

 

A gasp escaped her lips as she noticed the shining badge on the stranger's chest. He was the sheriff. She brought her eyes back to Voldemort. He had turned his back to her. But the other man seemed content.

 

Swiftly she returned to the inside of the brothel not waiting for Lavender before getting into the dormitory. Silently, she sat on the small cot. She did not hear the snores anymore. It did not matter anymore.

 

Lavender closed the door carefully before coming to sit beside her. She put an arm around Hermione's shoulders in a comforting gesture.

 

"What happened ?" she whispered, "I though it was going swimmingly !"

 

Hermione clenched her jaw feeling tears rising. They could handle a bounty hunter and his group. They had already proven they could. But officers of the law ? This might be the straw that would break the camel's back.

 

She nested her head between her hands trying to calm her breathing. Could she tell Lavender ? Would the woman not prefer giving them in to the sheriff rather than risk her own skin ? She needed to find Ronald and Harry.

 

"I need to go," she breathed out.

 

Lavender's hold on her shoulders strengthened.

 

"You're not going anywhere !" she whispered furiously, "or have you forgotten why you came here in the first place ? To be safe !"

 

Hermione met her eyes with a cold look of her own. "I'm not safe here anymore."

 

"That's ridiculous. You were safe ten seconds ago."

 

"Well," snarled the bushy-haired woman, "situations evolve !"

 

The blonde pointed her finger at her chest, cheeks heating up. "You'll stay until your friends come back ! I feel responsible for you now."

 

Hermione rose. "You shouldn't have accepted the burden then."

 

She made a move for the door when Lavender grasped her arm and yanked her back on the bed.

 

"Hermione, be rational. You won't be safer in the _main street_ than here !"

 

"I might ! I'm in your dormitory how is that not suspicious ! What do I do if a girl comes in here and asks about me !"

 

The blonde opened her mouth but closed it soon after. Hermione could almost see the wheels turning.

 

"You're right."

 

Hermione smirked but stopped as the blonde raised her index finger once more to stop her from talking.

 

"But, I might know how to make you feel safer."

 

She frowned. "How ?"

 

"Forewarned is forearmed."

 

"By quoting proverbs ?"

 

"No silly !" whispered Lavender hitting Hermione's arm, "it means you know there's a danger, does the threat know it's one ?"

 

"I guess... I guess not ?"

 

"Then you got an advantage. We just need to hide you better. In plain sight."

 

"No offense, but that doesn't sound too good."

 

"Well," smiled the blonde mischievously, "I guess we'll just find out."

 

"What's your plan ?"

 

"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix. You're our new waitress !"

 

Hermione had never been good at finding friends who could elaborate good plans. Still, she had to admit that hiding in plain sight, which meant seeing everything unlike in this poor excuse of a dormitory, was not that stupid. Especially if it meant only being a waitress. She would be groped and as paradoxical as it sounded, she would be safe.

 

She extended her hand to a beaming Lavender who shook it forcefully.

 

"I'm in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story won't be updated til January !
> 
> Still hope you liked the chapter, don't hesitate to review !


	12. Chapter 12

The butler thanked the boy who ran back in direction of the city and placed the small telegram on one of the silver platter. He swiftly made his way through the numerous rooms to his master's office. He gently nocked on the slightly open door.

 

"Yes ?" drawled a voice inside.

 

The butler entered the office deferentially keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.

 

"Telegram sir."

 

He heard the sound of fabrics rubbing and saw the shadow of a hand pluck the telegram from the platter. He immediately left with an umpteenth bow.

 

"Sir."

 

Draco Malfoy did not reply. His eyes were glued on the message he had just received. His face contorted in a sneer and he angrily threw the telegram on the ground.

 

"Fucking incompetent..."

 

"What's that Draco ?"

 

Draco spun around to meet his father cold grey stare. He gulped. His lack of control of his impulses would not go unnoticed. It never did. His hands began sweating.

 

"Nothing father, I just received a telegram from Zabini."

 

The man, merely more than a foreigner to Draco, gave him a haughty look. "What does it say ?"

 

"It says that..."

 

Draco paused glancing once more at the message even though he had it memorized the first time around.

 

"Yes ?" interrupted Lucius, clearly annoyed by the pause.

 

"Riddle has still not retrieved the girl. It's from yesterday."

 

Lucius made a small noise of disinterest and sat in his son's armchair before unfolding his newspaper carefully, the ink had just been dried by one of the maids.

 

"Are you sure Riddle's the man for this job ?"

 

As soon as the question left his lips, Draco knew he should not have asked it.

 

"Are you... doubting me, _son_?"

 

Draco's face twisted into a frown. "No, of course not father."

 

Lucius scowled, not hiding his contempt. He went back to his newspaper. Draco stiffened.

 

"Good. We'll find your little slave. Now go back to your wife and son, I'm sure you'd be more useful to them."

 

Draco's cheeks bore the color of his shame.

 

* * *

 

 

"This is Hermione Granger," beamed Lavender pulling on the bushy-haired woman arm to make her move forward.

 

Hermione sighed but complied. The old woman in front of her had her hair tightly restricted in a bun and her lips pinched. Lavender had told her she was the second in command to the chief of the 'Order of the Phoenix'. She had foolishly thought the name to be that of the brothel. Turned out it was the name of a small group fighting for justice, namely to defend those wrongly accused and chased by bounty hunters. People like her.

 

"I'm Minerva McGonagall, pleased to meet you."

 

Hermione took the extended hand with a grateful nod. Even if the woman seemed a bit uptight she might be the key to hide from Lord Voldemort and his goons. And the sheriff now. She had not had the time to warn the boys. Overall, this was a mess.

 

"You'll do nicely as a waitress. I presume you have an idea of how the job works ?"

 

The bushy-haired woman nodded. How hard could it be ?

 

"Good. Then off you go with Lavender, I'll see what I can do about your and your friends legal situation with Albus."

 

"Thank you ma'am."

 

"No need to thank me, you can do it later. For now focus on staying alive please."

 

Hermione chuckled as McGonagall left them alone. Her last comment was simultaneously horrifying and... quite amusing in its dryness. Had she so totally accepted her situation that she could laugh about it ? She shook her head and turned to Lavender who was still beaming.

 

"Can't believe I saved you !" she giggled excitedly.

 

"Not yet," sighed Hermione rolling her eyes.

 

However, she could not help but smile at the blonde's enthusiasm. She guessed they were friends now, or at least... colleagues. Lavender suddenly hugged her tightly. Hermione was taken aback. The affectionate gestures brought back memories of Ron and Harry. When they were still relatively safe. Or at least when the three of them were together. Tears gathered in her eyes. She tightened her hold on the blonde, sucking in her warmth and breathing in the sweet smell of her hair. The woman must have put perfume on it.

 

It made her feel safe. But her two best friends were not safe at all. She felt so powerless. She was in a brothel, about to become a waitress, and she could not warn them. Tears rolled on her cheeks as she bit down a sob.

 

"Shhh," whispered Lavender, gently patting her back.

 

Hermione's tears began to fall more freely. She had not cried in a long time. She had not been separated from the boys for a long time.

 

"I just," she gasped, "I want them to be _safe_ !"

 

"I know sweetheart..."

 

"I want to be with them..."

 

Lavender hummed quietly, fingers threading through Hermione's thick short hair.

 

"You will, you just need to be strong for now, for you and for them."

 

She sniffed and nodded quietly as the tears started to dry on her cheeks. She broke the embrace and looked at Lavender. The woman smiled and delicately wiped her cheeks clean.

 

"There," she whispered.

 

Hermione nodded awkwardly. But Lavender understood she was trying to say thank you.

 

"Now let's go kick ass at waitressing."

 

* * *

 

 

Ron dug in the small can of beans with Harry's tin spoon. It was cold, but it at least made his stomach feel less empty. He eyed his friend's smoking cup of coffee. They really did not have much.

 

"Want a bite ?"

 

He shook his head, not even looking at the probably better food one of the men had just offered him. With Harry, they had decided that the best strategy would be to avoid making any acquaintances so that no one would remember them. So it was only logical to refuse any exchange. Even if it was of desirable food.

 

When the smell of fresh ham reached his nostrils, he began to regret ever agreeing to that strategy.

 

"Oi ! The two new ones !"

 

The redhead raised his head instantly forgetting the ham's heady smell. One of the men was looking at him, his old tan skin splitting with the breadth of his beam. His grey eyes were unusually cold. Ron nodded in acknowledgment and noticed Harry mirroring his gesture from the corner of his eye. They had to tread very carefully so as to leave as little memories of them to those men. Moreover, the man's odd eyes were familiar to Ron, tickling the edge of his consciousness. What he was sure of was that this old man had an aura of danger.

 

"Ya were on the road fo' some time, ai ?"

 

"Yeah," muttered Harry.

 

"Ya got stories to share ? We'd like it."

 

They looked at each other, Ron's eyes clearly showing his inner panic. Harry raised one of his eyebrows and his best friend's lower lip twitched. They had to tell something.

 

"Well," began the raven-haired man, "we got in a fight in a few saloons but apart from that not much to tell. Usual traveling stuff."

 

The men hummed in agreement. Ron's shoulders sagged in relied.

 

"C'me on. Not a little w'man ya trav'lin' with ?"

 

Even Harry visibly tensed. They could not know they travelled with a woman. After all, they were sought as the golden _trio_. They had to appear not to match the description of the golden trio, as much as possible. They did not know the precision of said description. For all they knew it could be detail-free as well as the contrary. It was like a game of chess. One had to tread carefully before analyzing the other's moves. Ron had learned chess back in the East. And he was rather good at it.

 

"Got my wife back in Virginia," said Ron gruffly, "I'm goin' back soon as I got gold."

 

Some of the men nodded with understanding and the old man seemed satisfied enough as he went back to eating his loaf of bread. The questioning was over. Harry and Ron let out a breath of relief. They really were paranoiac.

 

They turned their eyes back to their pitiful portions of food. The work was hard. It was not enough to keep them from feeling hungry. Harry's stomach growled making him wince.

 

"Just askin' question cause I saw this wanted poster on the sheriff office about two slaves and a white man, stealers, nasty bastards, fleeing from the East."

 

Ron's head snapped back up. The old man was looking at him coldly. If the redhead had not already been covered in sweat, he would certainly be then. His face had turned to a pasty white.

 

"Thought it odd that ya two arrived same time this did."

 

Harry forced out a nervous chuckle. "Just a coincidence I assure you, the poster probably comes before the stealers themselves."

 

"Ya black. Ya white. What tells us ther' ain't a black whore with ya too ?"

 

Ron's knuckles turned white as he gripped the can tighter. He tried not to let it show. But the man had insulted Hermione. Harry, noticing that his friend's control could snap any second smiled calmly at the gold digger, though he himself could not ignore the anger slowly poisoning his veins. But getting into a fight would lead nowhere good, of that he was certain.

 

"Me. I tell you. We ain't no stealers. We just gold diggers, like all of you."

 

The man gave him a suspicious look. "Yeah."

 

Harry nodded sharply before turning to Ron who had visibly paled in anger.

 

"Pull it together," he whispered furiously, squeezing his friend's knee.

 

They turned fearfully to the old man as he inhaled as though to start ranting.

 

"Oi gentlemen."

 

All the gold diggers looked up to the man in a suit who had just emerged from the little forest. Ron and Harry felt little to no relief. He was smiling dangerously, viciously. He appeared as dirty as all of them except for his suit that was immaculate. Even though Hermione had repeated to them, time and again, that a book should never be judged based on its cover, Harry and Ron could not help but feel like the man was inherently _vile_. It was stickier like oil. In a way, this man made them shiver in a way Voldemort could never dream to achieve.

 

"Sheriff," welcomed the old man, throwing an accusatory glance at Ron and Harry.

 

They stiffened. The presence of the sheriff was not a good sign.

 

"Just wanted to tell you that should any new gold digger show up, don't accept them. Three fugitives are suspected to be in our city and we shall not let them walk around freely. We all abide by the law."

 

The men nodded in harmony, some of them glancing at the two friends without trying to conceal their growing suspicion. Surprisingly, the old man said nothing, simply stared at them with a small smirk.

 

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Come to me shall you have any useful information. Good day."

 

"We sure will si'," loudly stated the old gold digger as the sheriff left as abruptly as he had arrived.

 

"Fuck," muttered Harry.

 

* * *

  

Lavender had led her back to the small dormitory where she had opened the wardrobe adjoining her bed. She had taken several pieces of fabric, or rather dresses out of it.

 

Hermione's eyes widened. If she had thought those to only be pieces of fabric, it was because of how short the front of the dresses was.

 

"Lavender ! I cannot wear _that_ !"

 

The blonde shrugged taking out more dresses and throwing them on the bed. "Course you can."

 

She turned to look sternly at Hermione, putting her fists on her hips. "This is about survival. Would you rather be hanged or show a little skin ? It's only calves !"

 

The bushy-haired woman sighed throwing her hands in the air. She had no idea. She just knew she did not want to go back from where they had come from.

 

"Alright I guess..."

 

"Great. You can pick between those dresses. And no red."

 

Hermione gave her a puzzled look. "Why no red ?"

 

"You've been wearing this red shirt ever since you've arrived. I'm sick of it."

 

"It has been three days."

 

"I'm sensitive to color. And it's the color of blood. Now pick."

 

She threw the blonde an annoyed look. She liked red. It was their favorite color to all three of them... She noticed that the dresses still in the wardrobe were of that color. She almost chuckled. Lavender never intended for her to even be able to pick red. She began to rummage through the dresses, incomplete in her opinion. Finally she singled one out, a black one.

 

"That should not draw attention..."

 

Lavender snorted. "Your shoulders will also be naked with that one."

 

Hermione's nose scrunched up. Still holding the dress she glanced at the other clothes spread on the bed. The colors were too flashy or her cleavage would be much too exposed. She'd rather have naked shoulders thank you very much.

 

"If I can show my legs, I can show my shoulders."

 

"I see you've began to understand the logic," smirked Lavender putting back, without much care, the dresses in the wardrobe.

 

Hermione stuck her tongue out playfully as she examined the dress more closely. She had been wrong in her first observation, the underskirt, which was, to her dismay, much too visible, was of a dark shade of green and not black. She shrugged. It would still do the job nicely.

 

Quickly she took off her old shirt and pants and, with Lavender's help, slipped into the black dress. She shivered. Her calves, shoulders and her neck were exposed. The front of the dress was knee-length when the back reached her ankles. It made no sense to her. Although she guessed it made dancing or other activities, easier.

 

She pulled on the frills of the small sleeves which purpose was lost on her as they began below her shoulders.

 

"We have to do something with your hair now. And put make-up on you."

 

Hermione frowned. "Wait, make-up ?"

 

"You're in a brothel. You can't blend in if you do not have at least red lipstick and some black around your eyes. Trust me."

 

Hermione nodded softly, eyebrows still furrowed, as Lavender pushed her on the bed and went to look for her make-up tools. She did not have much of a choice anyway. More and more, living in San Francisco proved to be nothing like they had imagined. Freedom kept evading their grasp.

 

* * *

  

"So your men are looking for them ?"

 

Lestrange nodded with a vicious smirk. "They are, I even went around town myself to tell people to come if they saw something suspicious."

 

Tom nodded, trying to hide his contempt for the man. Incompetent, vile, ... He was used to working with this type of scum even if he tried to avoid it.

 

"Keep me updated."

 

"Sure thing !"

 

Tom tilted his head before leaving the sheriff office, joining his men who had been waiting for him in the dusty bustling street.

 

"Where we going now boss ?"

 

Tom sighed. Mulciber, as most of his men, had been spending most of his time at the brothel. He was eager to go back. Tom usually did not go with them. He had no trouble finding a willing woman outside of a brothel.

 

However, he had not forgotten the Pagosa Springs mishap. His men could have doubted him. Some of them probably still did. He needed to regain their trust. He had started doing it by murdering the loony of the town. Now he needed to crouch down to their level, before rising to his natural position again, as their superior.

 

"Brothel ?" he asked, already bored and annoyed.

 

His men immediately began smiling and whispering excitingly.

 

"Yeah !" yelled Mulciber and Nott.

 

Tom smirked. He might torture them later for forcing him to go to a brothel. Once he would be sure to have secured their respect. Would it not strengthen it after all ? Trust based on mutual interest and then fear based on his true persona, Lord Voldemort. The perfect chemical reaction to achieve undying loyalty.

 

Thinking about what he could do to them to secure said loyalty, he followed his men in the main street. His contempt only rose as he noticed they had no hesitation in regard to the direction of the brothel. They were mere victims of their more primal instincts. It was with a sigh that he entered the building on their trail.

 

They all sat at a large round table. He glanced around. As sinful and dirty as one might expect a brothel to be. He frowned. Mulciber raised his hand to call one of the waitresses. Tom did not even made a move to acknowledge her presence. He was above such people.

 

"Hello, I'm Padma, what do you want to drink ?"

 

"Coffee," he answered coldly, looking out of the window.

 

Of course, his men ordered alcohol. Because they needed to be even more stupid. He restrained himself in order not to sigh with open contempt. He needed their trust.

 

"Sweetheart !"

 

He openly scowled as one of the whores, a blonde dull one, approached Nott with a simperingly sweet smile. He saw several others making their way over to them. There was no more avoiding it. A girl with curly brown hair made his way over him. Her hair was simultaneously tempting and _not enough_. Disgust rose in his throat, burning him like vitriol.

 

"Hi," she whispered as she closed in on him.

 

He only nodded.

 

"Not one to talk ?" she chuckled, "that's alright hon'."

 

He tensed as she sat on his lap. He pushed her abruptly and rose from his chair. The sickly sweet and heady scent of her perfume overwhelmed him transforming his disgust in hatred. How he hated perfume. Too flowery. Not coppery enough.

 

"I'll be right back."

 

His men did not hear him as engrossed as they were in talking to the luscious women luring them in the more private rooms for money.

 

He went for the closest door and exited the suffocating building. He came out in what he supposed was the back street of the brothel. Sighing, he leaned on the wall and breathed in the fresh air. The smell of warm earth was familiar. It was comforting.

 

Rationally, he had to go back inside, it would help his men trust him again. But how he hated brothels. Whores were useless. Just like the men who enjoyed their company. Shallow puppets.

 

He closed his eyes just as the door opened again. No one came out anyway. Fresh air would not hurt the main room.

 

"I'm fine Lavender."

 

He stiffened. He knew this voice.

 

"You have to go in there Hermione. You're supposed to work. Remember what McGonagall said."

 

_Hermione Granger_. He felt an impish smirk spread his lips. He silently hid behind the corner. She had to be alone for him to act. He felt a fire setting ablaze his veins that no alcohol could create, only one thing could : _the thrill of the chase_.

 

This detour by the brothel was turning out to be the one movement to allow him to capture his prey. His instincts _never_ failed him.

 

"I just need a minute of fresh air. I'll be back in a moment."

 

"Alright."

 

The door closed. He was tensed. Like a crouching lion or a coiled snake, waiting the best moment to strike and take down their prey. The dust of the ground scrunched under steps. He heard the faint sound of her leaning where he had leaned followed by a sigh. He took a risk and peeked around the corner.

 

_There she was_. Dressed in a black and green dress, his two favorite colors, a packaged present for him to pluck and rip open. Quite literally. He frowned as he noticed the color of her lips. They were bloody. Or appeared to be so.

 

He remembered the taste of her blood.

 

Fuck he needed to have her.

 

He tensed in preparation for the strike. She sighed again and pressed her hands against her face. He almost laughed. She was blinding herself to his assault. This was almost too delightful.

 

As she made to move her hands, he lunged, wrapping one arm around her waist blocking her arms and a hand on her mouth in a practiced move. His hand vibrated with her shriek. He laughed contentedly. He buried his nose in her hair effectively destroying the barely there hairdo. He chuckled in relief inhaling the heavy scent of earth. He could also smell perfume but he ignored it. It did not fit her.

 

"It's good to have you back darling."

 

For once, she did not freeze and started to struggle in his grasp. He only smirked. They both knew it was useless. As he felt her lips moving against his palm he moved his hand to her throat effectively avoiding her trying to bite him.

 

"You'll have to do better than that."

 

She shivered. He tightened his hold around her neck, deliciously naked, making her inhale sharply. He put his chin on her shoulder. The skin that met his was burning. She was feverish. He loved to have so much control over such a fragile body. It felt _right_.

 

"I can do that," she whispered.

 

He frowned. What could she do ? Abruptly she threw her head against his. As the move was sideways it had little to no effect on him. But he had not expected it. His hold on her arms and neck lessened slightly, giving her space to turn to face him and punch him in the throat.

 

That proved to be much more effective.

 

Tom fell to the ground trying to regain his breath, panting raggedly. His prey, because she should make no mistake, she was still his prey, turned towards the door. He grabbed her wrist harshly. As she cried out he twisted it slightly. He felt a now familiar fire consume him as he thought of the marks she would soon bear. _His_ marks.

 

"Help !"

 

Tom breathed in slowly and deeply, by degrees it felt easier. He smirked smugly at her. As he pulled on her arm to stand up he felt confident enough in his voice to talk.

 

"Who do you think will come ?"

 

His voice was hoarse. She glared at him, her black eyes sending shivers down his spine. She winced as he once again strengthened his hold on her. How delightful it was to see shining tears gather in her eyes.

 

"I've got the sheriff, therefore the whole town. You got your whore."

 

"Fuck you !"

 

She made to kick him in the legs but he swiftly pushed her against the wall, trapping her between his arms. He was used to recovering from wounds quickly.

 

"You're not escaping me this time," he whispered, burying his face in her hair and eliciting a shiver from her.

 

As she struggled again he moved back to see her eyes. She spat in his face. He only laughed.

 

"Still as feisty I see..."

 

"Stop laughing and let me go !" she groaned trying to escape his hold.

 

He pressed closer to her. "I'm sorry darling, you're just too much of a _delight_ not to laugh. I'm sure you'll prove as delightful when I do what I've dreamed of doing to you for a long time."

 

Her eyes widened. He felt glorious. She was not scared or afraid. What he could see in her eyes, on her face, was much more primal. Hermione Granger was finally truly _terrified_ of him, yielding in front of her superior predator. It was thrilling. He felt lethal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. It has been hard to go back to writing this fic even though I still enjoy doing so. I hope you liked the chapter and I would love it if you took the time to leave a kudo or just review !
> 
> Have a nice day/evening !


	13. Chapter 13

When she woke up, it was dark. Her breath was ragged. Her head was pounding. It was as if her blood wanted to escape her body. She heaved. As the nausea died down, she started to take in her surroundings.

 

She was in a small room, she guessed. The only furniture she was aware of was the chair she was tied to. There was no window. There was no light. There was no escape.

 

She retched again, only bile rising to burn her throat. She coughed.

 

Hermione breathed in unevenly, closing her eyes to try to regain her bearings. She pulled on the rope tying her wrists behind her and to the back of the chair. In vain. Her feet were tied too.

 

She was in the dark, alone, helpless. The realization bore on her like an invisible weight. She would rather have Lord Voldemort in this room with her, torturing her, than stay there alone. She hated to confront her helplessness. She would rather feel pain.

 

The seconds stretched. She did not know how long she had been out. She had no idea how long he intended to leave her alone. She wanted to scream. But she was afraid it was one of his goons that would come. At least, with him came familiarity.

 

The only thing she could hear was her own panting breath. The only thing she could see was the absolute darkness she was bathed in. She did not even know where the door was.

 

If she knocked her head on the floor hard enough, maybe it would kill her.

 

Of course it could. But then it also could not.

 

She had been waiting for what felt like an eternity. Her throat was parched, her lips dry with pigment. She closed her eyes to keep them humid. Her stomach grumbled. The nausea came back. She shivered.

 

Maybe he had poisoned her. She would not mind. It would mean death. Anything but this.

 

She thought about her best friends. What would they think when they realized she had disappeared ? What would they do ?

 

She hated that she could not think of a way to save herself.

 

She was drowning in the dark and in her uneven breathing. She thought for an instant that she might spontaneously die. It would take away from him the pleasure of killing her.

 

Her fever increased, she could feel her blood singing, thrumming to an unknown song in her veins. The hair on her arm stood. Was someone with her in the room ? She straightened trying to find another presence. She could only hear herself.

 

Imagination was her worst enemy in situations like this. She tried to push out of her mind images of people waiting in the dark, waiting for the right moment to strike her. She would not see it coming. She could not.

 

Her breathing turned labored. Her head snapped to her right. She swore she could have felt movement there. Was she being ridiculous ? Could she really expect to feel the air shift ?

 

"Who's there ?" she whispered.

 

She stopped breathing to try and catch a sound. Utter silence answered her. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears running free. She could hear her blood in her ears. She felt as though she was losing herself in the sound, in the darkness.

 

She waited.

 

For what else could she do ?

 

* * *

 

 

"We've got to take her and leave," hissed Ron furiously as they left the river's bank.

 

Harry followed him closely, glancing at the group of gold-diggers. The old man was staring at them with an odd smile dancing on his lips. He did not like it more than the redhead.

 

"Where would we go ?"

 

Ron groaned in frustration. He did not know. He pushed the branches before they touched his face. His gear swayed loudly on his back, producing an awful cacophony of sound.

 

"Anywhere."

 

"We need a plan."

 

The redhead stopped to turn and give a pointed look to Harry. "None of our plans ever work."

 

"Yeah," he grumbled, "but we still need a goal."

 

They resumed their walk. They had to get to San Francisco before the night so that they could take advantage of the dark once they were reunited to leave discreetly. They still had about an hour before the sun would set. It would take them twenty minutes to reach the town. That was the only plan Ron thought about. Getting all of them safe on the road.

 

"Our goal is survival."

 

"That's grim."

 

"Our lives haven't exactly been sunshine and rainbows so far."

 

He heard his raven-haired friend chuckle. "I guess you're right."

 

A small breeze passed through the woods. It was refreshing. Ron took a swig of water. The day had been exhausting. Fleeing was exhausting. But they had no choice. Danger would always be lurking until they got to a safe place. San Francisco was not it.

 

"And do you think Hermione will be alright with us leaving ?"

 

"Why wouldn't she be ?"

 

"Well," sighed Harry, "San Francisco is kind of a synonym for freedom for us. Can we give up on our dream so easily ?"

 

Ron did not answer. He knew he could not fully understand. He had been free. He had been poor, but at least theoretically he had been the equal of the wealthy. They had not. For him, freedom mainly meant wealth, for them it meant rights. Could he ask them to give up on their dreams for his own safety ? Was it only about his safety ?

 

"Can we give up on life ?"

 

Harry stayed silent for a few instants, clearly surprised by his friend's answer. "No, I guess we can't."

 

They reached the top of a small hill. The town was bathed in the golden light of the soon to be set sun. A swarm of settlers moved in the small streets. From up there it almost looked peaceful, like they could live there.

 

"We're the Golden Trio," stated the redhead, "we can do anything, we can find freedom."

 

They looked at each other and smiled. Of course they could. So far, they had dodged whatever crap life had been throwing at them.

 

"Hands in the air."

 

They froze. It was the voice of the sheriff. Their eyes widened.

 

"He said hands in the air stealers !"

 

The old man.

 

They slowly raised their hands. Ron stiffened as he felt the barrel of a gun hit his back. From the corner of his eye, he saw Harry straighten. They were both threatened.

 

"You're under arrest," drawled the gruff voice of the sheriff.

 

He reeked of alcohol. And they were several, the redhead could hear them walking, crunching dead leaves under their feet. They were surrounded.

 

"Under whose authority ?" asked Harry through clenched teeth.

 

Ron could feel beads of sweat on his forehead, slowly descending across his face. He blinked. He barely dared to breathe. The barrel was burning him. His fear was playing tricks on him.

 

A sharp laugh broke the tense silence. "You got nerves boy ! Under my authority, the sheriff."

 

The redhead wondered if they could take all of them down. They were not armed but maybe his gear could be turned into a weapon.

 

"Bring them to the jail, I'll deal with them later."

 

The man behind him abruptly took his hands and held them behind his back before throwing his gear on the ground. Ron winced.

 

"Move."

 

The voice was hoarse. He felt the barrel still pointed at his back. The redhead did not hesitate and moved in the direction the barrel indicated. He heard the sound of footsteps before the drunken sheriff and the old man appeared in his view and took the lead of the small group.

 

The old man's eyes were full of mirth.

 

Ron snarled. They would escape. They always did. And they would keep Hermione safe from the dirty paws of the so-called law. 

 

* * *

 

 

When she woke up the second time her members were stiff. She had fallen asleep. She no longer felt nauseous.

 

She forced herself to keep her breath slow and even, taking large gulps of air before carefully breathing out through her mouth. She opened her eyes. The darkness was still as pure. She felt a spark of fear. Breath in, breath out. Her throat burned.

 

She needed to find a way to escape. She was not powerless. She was Hermione Granger, member of the Golden Trio. _She was not powerless_.

 

She pulled on the rope tying her wrists to no avail. She then tried the resistance of the one on her feet. She gritted her teeth. It was not working.

 

She tried to see shapes in the dark, see if there was any useful furniture. Should she try to move the chair to see if she bumped into anything ? That might alert people. If they were people to alert.

 

Suddenly light flooded the room and she cried in pain. As her eyes adjusted to the overwhelming new lighting she heard the sound of footsteps and then the scraping of wood against wood. So there was furniture after all.

 

"I'm sorry for the room but since you escaped last time, I couldn't take the risk of putting you in a room with a window."

 

She blinked as he slowly came into focus. Voldemort was on another chair in front of her, the door slightly ajar to let the light come in.

 

"I'm sure you understand why there's no candle either."

 

He was smirking arrogantly, as though he had planned for every possible escape she could scheme. She scowled. _She was not powerless_.

 

"Where are Ron and Harry ?"

 

Her voice was croaky. Her throat burned as though it was filled to the brim with sand grating on the soft walls of her trachea.

 

He rose from his chair and exited the room. She frowned. She did not want to be plunged in the dark again. He did not close the door on his way out. She felt relief flood her system and lessen the pain in her throat.

 

When he came in again he was holding a small flask. He held it to her lips and tilted it. She accepted it gratefully. Unlike the last time he had done that, it was water. It was life.

 

"Better ?"

 

She glared at him as he sat back down. "Don't pretend like you care."

 

"I do, what's the fun if you can't speak or scream ?"

 

She shivered. His smile was wicked. There were more ways for this situation to go wrong than to benefit her. She could almost feel the weight of the odds against her. She could barely see his features as his back was turned to the door.

 

"Where are Ron and Harry ?"

 

He rolled his eyes. Hermione glared at him. How could he not care ? Was he not supposed to catch the Golden Trio ?

 

"You don't need to know."

 

"I'm sure you haven't caught them and won't," she spit.

 

She was not sure of it but she hoped it. She raised her head as footsteps echoed. Someone was coming. Voldemort had straightened. He was still smirking. He probably knew who it was.

 

"My Lord ?"

 

She snarled at the title. His smile turned carnivorous.

 

"Yes ?"

 

"The sheriff wants to talk to you, says it's urgent."

 

He sighed. So he had not known.

 

"Of course it is..."

 

He rose. Her eyes widened in fear as his hand touched the handle.

 

"No !" she shouted.

 

She hated how her despair transpired in her voice. She hated that she did not care.

 

Voldemort glanced at her and smiled. It was affectionate. She felt bile rise once again in her throat. He closed the door. She could not escape.

 

She could not breathe.

 

* * *

  

Harry shook the bars once again. They did not bulge.

 

"Fuck..."

 

Ron raised tired eyes on him. "That's useless."

 

The raven-haired man shook his head and glanced at the small window. The sky was clear, stars shedding a soft light on earth.

 

"It's already night time..."

 

"It's been so for an hour Harry."

 

"Yes," he snapped, "well I was trying to get out while you were contemplating the time !"

 

"You were _shaking the bars_ !" roared Ron.

 

He had risen to his feet. They were panting heavily glaring at each other. Their muscles were taught. They were full of an adrenalin and an energy they could not use.

 

"Well, if it ain't the two members of the Golden Trio !" laughed a familiar voice.

 

They abruptly turned to see Lord Voldemort sneering at them behind the bars. He looked amused and delighted, eyes alive with cruel mirth. They sent each other a knowing look. Whatever happened to them, they had to ensure Hermione's safety. The tension did not leave them.

 

"Go on," whispered the bounty hunter, "fight."

 

"Fuck you !"

 

Harry lunged forwards, hitting the bars, arms desperately trying to reach the cold-looking man. His sneer was not anywhere to be seen. Ron felt a surge of satisfaction at that even if he went to pull Harry back. Threatening this man would not lead to anything good, he was sure of it.

 

"You certainly have an interesting strategy to deal with those who can decide whether you get to live another day."

 

They stiffened, hearing the contempt clearly in his voice.

 

"What do you want ?"

 

Voldemort laughed. It was chilling. It sounded lethal.

 

"Do you think you have anything to offer me ?"

 

Ron frowned. "Our deaths."

 

The laughter stopped. The redhead glared at the man. It did not affect him. His lips were curved in an arrogant smirk.

 

"I am the one in charge of your deaths."

 

"Then when are you going to kill us ?" snapped Harry.

 

Voldemort pinched his lips. "When the time is right."

 

"That could be anytime."

 

His heavy and cruel gaze settled back on Ron. The redhead managed not to squirm under the pressure. He was doing it to protect Hermione. If two of them died, maybe they would leave her alone. Malfoys were cowards after all.

 

"Exactly."

 

He clapped his hands. Harry and Ron jumped in surprise. The sound echoed in the small cell.

 

"Now, I've got business to go back to so, play nice, try not to get both killed. I need at least one of you."

 

As he turned to leave Ron shouted. "What if we both commit suicide ?"

 

Voldemort looked back at them. Why was he _always_ smiling ?

 

"You won't," he calmly stated. "Because I have your other little member with me. And you're such fools that you won't kill yourselves, because you believe, that you can always save each other. It is not true. But it is entertaining."

 

"Hermione," whispered Harry with wide-eyes.

 

"Where is she ?" yelled the redhead.

 

Black spots began to fill his vision. He could only hear drums, the sound of his blood beating in his ears. Voldemort was smiling. He wanted to wipe that self-assured smile of his face.

 

The two friends threw themselves against the bars. As they struggled, in vain, all they could hear was his laughter. His mad, cruel, ominous laughter.

 

All they could imagine was her being hurt. They were terrified. They needed to help her.

 

"Let us out !" wailed Harry.

 

They were _powerless_.

  

* * *

 

 

When Hermione woke up for the third time, it was not in the dark. She felt almost grateful that he was back. That he was allowing her some light.

 

"If you're still wondering, I haven't found your friends."

 

She let out a sob of relief. She felt exhausted. She could not feel her hands anymore. Tears did not fall; she did not have anymore to shed.

 

"Thank you," she whispered.

 

His face was blank. Except for his eyes. They were still the color of coal, just as scalding as coal.

 

"Why did you flee from the Malfoys ?"

 

She blinked and inhaled sharply. The name was still painful to hear. He looked serious. He really wanted her answer. She glanced at the rest of the room. She needed to answer. He had answered her after all.

 

She tried to regulate her breathing. It worked. Knowing Harry and Ron were safe had calmed her. If she could stall him, he would lose time looking for them. They could escape. They could save her.

 

Hermione turned to face him. She tried to school her face. She set her jaw. She hoped her voice would not tremble. She hoped she did not look weak for she could not afford it. She never could.

 

"You think I was only his slave," she stated, "but I was also his whore."

 

She barely caught it but his eyes widened a fraction. "I had guessed so."

 

She did not answer. He was lying. He might have posited it, but now he knew. She hoped it would be enough to deter him from trying to bring them back to him. She knew it would not. She tried to bury the thought of Malfoy back in the deep recesses of her mind. It had not proved to be working as of yet.

 

He came closer. Her breath turned ragged again. She did not know if it was because of fear.

 

He softly put his hand on her cheek. His skin was cold over her own feverish one. She shivered. His thumb brushed her lips. Her blood boiled and threatened to go through her skin. His hands moved to her back. They brushed the skin of her arms.

 

Her cheeks reddened.

 

He slightly loosened the rope around her wrists. She moaned softly as the blood came rushing back.

 

He blinked before moving back. He sent her a hard stare. Her blood kept pulsating. Had he spoken, she would not have heard him. He left the room without trying to. He closed the door.

 

He was her merciless god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is me trying my hand at writing tense scenes. Hoped it worked well enough.


	14. Chapter 14

Draco gestured to his suitcase. The butler nodded and took it before leaving his master alone to put the luggage in the stagecoach to go to Greenville. Draco would then go to Charlotte before moving west.

 

Zabini had sent yet another useless telegram. His jaw ticked as he glanced at it once again.

 

_Riddle incontrollable STOP no lead STOP will keep looking STOP_

 

It was clearly time for Draco to take charge. He would go to San Francisco and find leads himself. Anyway, some time away from Astoria and Scorpius could not hurt. Especially if it was to find his delightful Hermione. Not so delightful now that she had escaped of course. And she had been away from him for too long.

 

"So," snarled Lucius Malfoy entering the room, "you're leaving ?"

 

Draco straightened. His father was looking over his room with contempt, dressed luxuriously.

 

"Yes."

 

"For... a slave."

 

He hesitated. He knew what his father thought of that. But he could not appear to be afraid of him. Of his judgment.

 

"Yes."

 

Lucius raised a single eyebrow at his son. He did not need to voice his disapproval. It was always obvious. Draco could not stand it. He looked away. From the window, he could see the butler loading his suitcase in the stagecoach.

 

"Well, I have to go."

 

His father sent him a cold stare. "Then go."

 

Draco did not wait another moment to turn around and go down the stairs, as slowly as he could manage. He would never show his fear in front of his father. Of course he did not need to show it. Lucius knew it was there.

 

He gulped and made his way through the front door, taking his top hat from the butler's hand.

 

"Thank you Crabbe."

 

"Sir."

 

Draco stepped in the stagecoach. It was empty, just as he had asked. Perfect.

 

"Tell Lady Astoria I'll send her a telegram as soon as I get to Greenville and then each step of the way."

 

"Yes sir," nodded Crabbe.

 

He glanced at the windows. He saw no one. He looked down.

 

"Go !"

 

Crabbe repeated the order and the driver whipped the horses. The stagecoach jolted, as the horses started moving. Draco spared one last glance to the plantation. Without Hermione, it was worthless. He would get her back.

  

* * *

 

 

Lavender pinned her hair up and nodded to Parvati.

 

"I'm ready."

 

The brunette's nose scrunched up before she hissed. "Well I'm not."

 

Lavender sighed dramatically before glancing out of the window, hiking her skirt up. The crowd was only getting thicker, packing the streets tight like beans in a can.

 

"This plan is pure crap Lav'."

 

"It's Dumbledore's, it is not _crap_."

 

Parvati threw her hands in the hair. "Of course it is ! It might not work !"

 

"Even if it doesn't, we have to try !"

 

"Why ? We don't know those people !"

 

The blonde sent her a glare. Her hands were trembling with righteous anger. The Order had tried for them. They could not refuse their help to anyone. And the blonde had _lost_ Hermione. She had not managed to keep her safe. She had failed her once, she would not fail her twice.

 

"What does it matter ? Do they have to live a life as dreadful as ours before we help them ? And anyway, I don't think they've led an easy life 'til then. They wouldn't be in this situation if they had would they ?"

 

Her friend stated at her dumbfounded. Lavender smiled tensely.

 

"The Order helped us when we needed it the most. That's its mission. And now that we're part of it, it's our turn."

 

The brunette straightened. She knew it was true. For, if the Order did not help those who were abandoned by justice, who would ?

 

"That's better," smiled Lavender, "Now, let's do it."

 

Parvati shook her head and gestured her agreement. "Yeah, let's do it."

 

Lavender's victorious grin finished convincing her. The blonde once again hiked her skirt up. She took the leather gloves on the nightstand and pulled them on.

 

"I've got the rifle," muttered Parvati, "you're sure you know how to shoot properly ?"

 

She snorted. "Yeah, Dean taught me."

 

The brunette chuckled. That was proof enough.

 

"You have the bags ?"

 

Parvati nodded, showing the two saddlebags, full with food. It would help the fugitives. The blonde nodded and took a sharp inhale.

 

She was ready.

 

Lavender climbed out of the small window, careful not to fall in the packed street. No one was paying her any attention. The crowd's attention was focused on the empty stage in front of the sheriff's office.

 

Parvati handed her the rifle and the blonde pulled the strap over her head. She felt the weapon hit her back lightly. She softly pulled on the leather strap to make sure it would not fall.

 

"Looks secure."

 

She winked at the anxious woman still in the room.

 

"Be careful."

 

"Always Parv'".

 

Parvati nodded although her worry shone through her eyes. Lavender forced herself to focus back on the matter at hand. She quickly climbed the facade, landing on the slightly leaning roof. Fortunately, the upper part was the one facing the main street. She would mostly be hidden.

 

She stretched out on the wooden roof before taking the rifle of her back and setting into position. It was uncomfortable. Looking at the rifle model, she realized her shoulder might be badly hurt when she would shoot. She gritted her teeth.

 

The Order of the Phoenix stood for its members.

 

Even if Ron and Harry were not official members, they were with Hermione and for the Order, it was enough. Furthermore, they strove to fight any injustice. The execution of innocents was a big one.

 

Lavender squinted. There was a lot of sun. She took aim at the stage. There was a small chair on the side, probably for the sheriff. She focused on the knotted ropes. It would be a tight shot. Her jaw ticked. She could do it.

 

She could save them. All three of them.

 

But why were there only two ropes ?

 

* * *

  

Hermione had been awake for what she estimated were a couple hours. The smell in the room was acid. She had peed herself in her sleep. She was still in the dark, engulfed in it, lost.

 

But then, came the sound. She could barely hear it from the room she was kept in but she could not doubt her ears. There was a roaring sound. Or at least it was probably roaring in the corridor or in the street. There was a crowd out there. And it was screaming, it was not a typical midday or evening crowd, she still ignored the time.

 

Suddenly, the door opened. She flinched.

 

Relief overcame her as she realized it was only Lord Voldemort. There was familiarity in his violence. It was unsettling but it was reassuring. In a way, he was predictable and it was comfortable.

 

He looked oddly satisfied. He was smirking arrogantly as he stared her down. She felt her neck heat up. She was humiliated by his mere look.

 

She wanted to ask if he had found Ron and Harry. However, he might have forgotten he had to look for them. Even if it was far-fetched, could she risk it ?

 

She tensed as he moved to stand behind her. She had to hold back a whimper as she felt the ghost of his touch on her wrists. She jerked as he breathed down her throat. Without her hair, his breath fanned all over it. It was unnerving. She felt vulnerable.

 

She could not help but be all too aware of his presence.

 

His hands lingered on her wrists.

 

"Are you thirsty ?"

 

Immediately, she realized her throat was parched. Dry like sandpaper, each swallow grating. Each swallow lacking saliva.

 

"Yes," she whispered.

 

She resented sensibly less that she was dependent of him. She still felt fear. She lacked anger. And she did not miss it. Had he broken her ?

 

Suddenly, he was in front of her, holding the rope that had been tying her wrists together. She stared at him dumbfounded, immediately stretching her arms. He handed her his flask.

 

She took it, aware that her hand was trembling. All her muscles hurt. She took a timid swig of it. She spluttered, coughing loudly. It was alcohol. Again not helping the burning in her throat. She spit almost all of it on the floor. She wheezed, desperately trying to breathe correctly again.

 

She felt his hands on her back, patting it. Finally, the air found its way in her trachea. She was panting but she took another small swig. It was easier, she was prepared for the burning taste of the alcohol that time.

 

He chuckled. "It's a friend's recipe, he calls it Firewhiskey. Quite fitting don't you think ?"

 

Hermione nodded. Was he joking with her ? Should she answer ? Would it protect Harry and Ron ?

 

He stared at her. There was no humor in his eyes. But then again, it was so dark in the room, she probably would not have seen it if it had been there.

 

She had never seen such a shade of black. It was darker than the darkest of smoke she had seen, when they had burned the barn down with Harry and Ron.

 

"I've got a little show prepared for you," he murmured, crouching down so that their eyes were on the same level.

 

She frowned. A show ?

 

"Then," he whispered putting his hand on her knee, "we'll leave."

 

"We ?"

 

"Of course, I'm not finished with you."

 

His smile made her brittle. It was sinister. Just like his words. Fear seeped into her bones. She reconsidered her appreciation of him. He was unpredictable. He was dangerous.

 

"What show ?"

 

She did not know if she wanted or if she did not want an answer to that question.

 

"Oh..."

 

The smile that spread on his lips was sinful. She straightened unconsciously.

 

"You'll see soon enough."

 

* * *

 

Zabini wiped the sweat off his forehead.

 

"Is that really the only telegram for me ?"

 

"Yes sir," grumbled the old man in charge of the office.

 

Zabini nodded, not daring to read the small text again. In a few weeks, his boss would be in San Francisco to investigate by himself. He glanced at the crowd gathered in the street. More sweat dribbled off his chin.

 

"Fuck..."

 

He had failed, massively.

 

"Sir, I'm gonna close the shop."

 

The tan man nodded absent-mindedly, getting out in the street. Bodies were packed tightly under the unforgiving sun. He could feel the sweat under his armpits and on his back getting his shirt wet. He quickly took a tissue out of his pocket to wipe off the sweat off his forehead.

 

Zabini began to tread through the thick crowd, trying to escape it. He hated the bodies pressed against him, only increasing the already unbearable heat.

 

Their shouting and yelling was deafening. It was rather a mob than a crowd.

 

He needed to escape, to flee from Malfoy's grasp. He needed to get away from the mess the Golden Trio had created.

  

* * *

 

 

Harry glanced at Ron. The redhead eyes were fixed on something moving. Harry could not see what he was looking at so intently. The crowd was dense, the streets packed. He narrowed his eyes. There was too much sun to actually see anything.

 

He could feel his heart beating. Fast. He could not hear the crowd's noise. He felt sick.

 

Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

 

It was disgusting to watch how focused people were on the two hanging ropes. He shivered. He did not want to die.

 

"Harry," whispered the redhead.

 

The raven-haired man glanced at him. He was still looking intently at something.

 

"What ?"

 

"I think there's someone on a roof," he frowned.

 

Harry followed his eyes, trying to see what he was seeing. He had to narrow his eyes because of the blinding sun.

 

"I see nothing," he began, "wait..."

 

He had seen it. It had only been a flash. He frowned. Was he hallucinating ? They both inhaled sharply as they saw yet another flash.

 

"I see it !" he whispered furiously.

 

The redhead glared at him. They had to be silent. Their jailers could hear them any moment. Harry nodded. They turned back to look at the flash.

 

"It's the roof of the brothel..."

 

"Hermione ?"

 

They shared a hopeful look. Ron shook his head.

 

"Would she take the risk ?"

 

"For us, yeah."

 

"No," he snapped, "is it necessary to save us to go on a roof where she can be seen and from which she can't escape ?"

 

Harry frowned. Ron was right. This was not logical. This was not Hermione. He looked back at the roof. He could not see any flash. He could not see anything.

 

"Friend or enemy ?"

 

He gritted his teeth. "I guess we'll have our answer when we're out there..."

 

Ron pressed his head against the bars, unrelentingly staring at the roof. "Fuck."

 

* * *

 

Lavender lowered her hat on her eyes. The sun threatened to blind her. She had to change positions several times to make sure she would see the ropes clearly, despite the sun.

 

It was getting hot. She felt uncomfortable in her cumbersome dress. Her breathing was heavy and hectic. She was afraid she would not shoot right when it would be needed.

 

She suddenly straightened, once again rectifying her position. She scowled as the sheriff came out of his office, looking smug. She kept her finger away from the trigger. She did not trust herself to resist the temptation of killing him.

 

"Good people of San Francisco !" he exclaimed loudly, "today, I'm givin' ya a show !"

 

The crowd cheered. She glanced at her back. The back street was empty. She shivered. Facing a blood-lusty mob was not something she planned on doing.

 

"I've arrested two da'gerous criminals ! And today, we're ha'gin' 'em !"

 

People erupted in cheer. She winced as they screamed when Ron and Harry exited the sheriff's office and got on the stage.

 

She tried to shake off the fear that was slowly threatening to take her over. It was in vain. But Dumbledore had said that love could overcome anything and that fear had to be embraced to be fought.

 

She inhaled deeply and steadied her hold on the rifle before aiming. She would have to act quickly to shoot the two ropes before someone could intervene.

 

Lavender began to doubt her shooting skills. She had lightly bragged about them to Parvati but the thing was that Dean had taught her, for an hour. She was talented, a natural. But what if she failed ?

 

Her breathing was hectic again, threatening her steady aim.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione followed Voldemort without protest outside of the room. The corridor was empty. He led her into a small bedroom with a window. She could hear the crowd more clearly.

 

He gestured to the bed. Quietly, she sat. He closed the door before setting his eyes on her.

 

They were _too_ black. She could not see any emotion in them.

 

He sat beside her, his eyes not leaving hers.

 

Suddenly, his arm had snaked around her, effectively making any struggling attempt useless, even if she did not really have the time to struggle. She whimpered, fear already there, just waking.

 

His eyes were cold as she gave him a pleading look. One of his hands held her wrists behind her back before he pushed her on the bed.

 

She gasped, eyes widening in terror.

 

"No, no, no, no !" she yelled.

 

Voldemort straddled her easily as she struggled in his grip. His knees were next to her shoulders, making sure that her wrists stayed behind her back. She thrashed under him, yelling incoherently.

 

His hand found her throat and all sound died on her tongue. She screwed her eyes shut, breathing erratic. If she did not see it, maybe it might not happen.

 

"Stay still."

 

She did not answer but obeyed. She had heard enough rumors about his exactions to know it was wiser.

 

She felt fabric on her eyes and then his hands were in her hair. After a few instants he released his hold and stood up. Her muscles were taught. She was ready to bolt. Slowly, she let her arms come to her side.

 

He had put a blindfold on her.

 

Hermione's breath stuttered. Why had he put a blindfold on her ? What was the point of letting her out of the dark room if it was just to plunge her in black again ?

 

She jerked as his hands wrapped around her wrists, pulling her up. She whimpered as he twisted her arms behind her back. She could feel him against her back. He was burning.

 

"Move forward."

 

She obeyed, carefully probing the ground before taking a step. He sighed and pushed her faster before stopping. His arm brushed against hers as he reached forward. Suddenly, noise flowed into the room.

 

Her eardrums whistled under the onslaught of sound. It made her head spin. The lack of visual landmarks was not helping.

 

"If you scream, nobody will hear you."

 

She shivered. His breath fanned over her neck. Why would she scream ?

 

Ron and Harry.

 

She panted. No. No !

 

"But I will hurt you."

 

"We'll start with the slave a'ight ?"

 

She straightened, trying to reign in her breathing. The voice was loud and foreign, coming from outside. Suddenly, he tore back the blindfold.

 

At first, she could not see anything, blinded by sound, deafened by light. Nausea made the ground move under her feet. But Voldemort held her up, unfaltering.

 

And then she saw it, the stage, her two best friends, the ropes. The hanging knots.

 

She yanked on his grip. She needed to save them.

 

"Let me go !"

 

His hold on her wrists only tightened. She jerked as she felt his nose brushing the column of her throat. She was relieved when anger found her once again.

 

She was not _helpless._ She was _Hermione Granger_.

 

Her jaw hardened. As she watched Harry nearing one of the ropes, her resolve only became stronger. She tried to butthead him and to hit his belly simultaneously. In vain. He chuckled.

 

"Oh, it won't work now darling, you've become predictable."

 

She struggled nonetheless, determined to escape before her friends were hung. She closed her eyes, not letting her fight go down, as the rope was pulled around Harry's neck. She turned her head. She could not bear it.

 

One of his hands left her wrists to tighten around her jaw. She whimpered. His hold would leave marks.

 

"Look," he ordered harshly, the playful tone from before gone.

 

She kept her eyes screw shut. Her attempts to escape his hold were so far fruitless.

 

"No," she whispered.

 

His hand left her jaw to find her hair. He pulled on it and she yelled in pain. She stubbornly kept her eyes screw shut. The roots of her hair were burning.

 

"Don't you want to look at them one last time ?"

 

His whisper brought an end to her struggle. It was useless anyway. Tears pricked at her eyes. She did not want tot see them die. She did not want them to die. A sob escaped her.

 

"Come on darling... You will hate yourself if you don't remember this moment, won't you ?"

 

Her cheeks were wet.

 

"They can't die," she whispered.

 

They were eternal. They were the Golden Trio, they lived and died together ! And they could not die before finding freedom.

 

She felt his chest rumbling against her back. He was laughing. He was laughing because he was ignorant. She opened her eyes and glared at him.

 

"You don't know what it is to be a slave," she hissed.

 

His laughter died down immediately. He leaned forward. She did not blink. She would not be intimidated. Not anymore. The black room was forgotten. She was stronger than that. She was Hermione Granger, _and she was free_.

 

"I don't. I never will. But I do know that no one can escape death. Except maybe through fame."

 

He jerked her head forward and she groaned. Her hair was burning.

 

But more importantly, she saw Harry hanging. Her scream of pure abject terror was lost in the raucousness of the crowd. She struggled more violently against Voldemort but the man holding her began to laugh again.

 

His lips found her ear. She tried to escape his touch, eyes fixed on the slowly bluing face of her friend. His eyes were beginning to bulge.

 

"I love seeing you like that..."

 

She tried to hit his head with hers but he held her in place thanks to the grip he had on her head. When he traced the line of her jaw with his tongue she sobbed.

 

Ron was paler than she had ever seen him, eyes looking down.

 

"Ron !" she yelled.

 

Her throat hurt because of the loudness of the scream but he did not hear it. The rope adorned his neck. She screeched. When the chair under his feet was taken away, her knees gave out.

 

But he made sure that she could keep seeing "the show". She did not struggle anymore. It would be in vain.

 

Harry's feet moved under him, looking for support. She sobbed. In vain. All of it had been fucking in vain. Freedom was a dream, and it could not be reached. At most it was an illusion. Death was real.

 

And then, a shot resonated in San Francisco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear what you think will happen next ! Don't hesitate to share your theories !


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione's ears rang with the shot. She could hear herself panting. The blood beating in her ears. The ringing overwhelming it all.

 

She fell to the ground instantly when the second shot echoed in the town before the mob erupted in chaos.

 

As soon as she heard the yells of the crowd, she screamed. She was in pain _everywhere._ She could not see anything but the absurd garish red in the center of Harry's bluing face. She threw up. Her surrounding kept moving, it was nauseating.

 

She focused on her breathing. But she could not slow it down.

 

It was all over, that entire quest for freedom, for eventual wealth, for tranquility, it was over. _Freedom was a dream, and it could not be reached. At most it was an illusion. Death was real._

 

She screamed again and it was shrill and almost animalistic. It was sheer blood-boiling rage, bones-cracking pain and sorrow.

 

She was alone. She was not under the delusion that Ron might have survived the second shot. Voldemort had probably placed a shooter to make it all the more shocking to her.

 

Tears trickled over her cheeks, her nose ran. She wanted to hit her chest repeatedly like she had seen other people do when their loved ones died. Inflicting the pain herself might help.

 

She barely noticed she was hissed onto a horse, arms circling her waist to grab the reins. What she noticed was the flash of fire in front of her. Immediately she was focused again. She wiped the tears off her eyes even as the horse began to move forwards.

 

"Ron !" she screamed.

 

If it had not been for the arms holding her, she would have tumbled off the horse when the redhead, fortunately distinguishable from the mob thanks to his hair, turned towards the source of the sound. His eyes widened and she saw his mouth move. She did not hear him over the noise of the crowd. She must have screeched unbelievably loud to be heard by him.

 

Suddenly, she could not see him anymore as the horse turned towards one of San Francisco’s exits from the main street. She tried to turn around but she was weak, she had not eaten for what felt like days, Voldemort was too strong for her to phase.

 

"Turn back !" she sobbed hysterically, "he's alive ! Ron's alive !"

 

He only tightened the hold of his arms around her. She gripped them to try to move them so that she could get off but as the horse started to gallop she held on in order not to fall. Weak as she was, falling off a horse was a bad idea.

 

She tried to look back at San Francisco.

 

She would find Ronald and she would need to be alive for that.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco gestured to the footman who quickly put his luggage beside the bed. He left promptly after saluting him. Draco closed the door behind him before taking in his bedroom. He frowned in distaste. It was small, uncomfortably so, with barely enough space for the bed, the nightstand, the chair and the closet.

 

As he was checking the clean, but also much too small to his taste, bathroom, he felt the train beginning to move. He glanced out of the window. Quickly, the buildings of Charlotte disappeared to leave place to fields.

 

He sighed. In a few days he would be in Chicago, from there he would take a stagecoach to San Francisco. It was really a shame that the railroad did not yet extend to the West Coast. Even if the conditions were not perfect, it was still better than having to share a stagecoach with strangers for days.

 

He left his bedroom to join the other first-class passengers in the lounge. There he accepted one of the cigars a footman offered him before taking the newspapers. He comfortably sat in a large chair.

 

"Fire, sir ?"

 

Draco nodded mutely, extending the cigar to the footman who quickly lit it. The blonde took a satisfying long inhale of the smell. It was quality.

 

"Would you like a drink sir ?"

 

"Whiskey."

 

He would need the strongest alcohol available like he had everyday ever since the damn woman escaped his grasp. Well it was not completely true. He had always had a particular affection for whiskey or strong alcohol in general.

 

He swiftly took the tumbler from the waiter's tray. The amber liquid seemed to be burning thanks to the red light coming from the setting sun. The lights turned on. Now it looked common again.

 

He took a swig. Well, it was like the cigar, not bad.

 

He glanced out of the window. He would find her, whatever it took.

 

* * *

 

 

"We can't go save her. We have no idea where she might be."

 

Ron scowled at the old man in front of him. He glanced at Lavender who silently shook her head. He knew they were right, he himself had absolutely no leads on Hermione whereabouts. It did not mean he could just stop caring and do nothing.

 

"I've got a responsibility. She's family."

 

The old man sighed and absent-mindedly began to stroke his long white beard. Ron tensed. The gesture was thoughtful. He would probably decide now if they gave chase to Hermione or not.

 

"As much as we'd love to help save this endangered young lady, we've got other people to save, and we know where they are. I'm sorry Mr. ?

 

"Weasley."

 

"Mr. Weasley, well, we can't do anything for your friend. But you're welcome to stay here and help out. I'm sure that she would have liked to know you devoted your time to the greater good, even if you did not save her."

 

Ron's nostrils flared. The man was condemning Hermione to death. Lavender quickly came to his side, putting her hand on his shoulder in an obvious attempt to calm him.

 

"Thank you sir," she said softly, "I'm going to show him around."

 

"Thank you Ms. Brown. I hope you choose to stay Mr. Weasley."

 

The woman who had saved his life led him out of the suffocating office. As soon as the door was closed and they were out of earshot, probably, he turned to her. Her brown eyes showed her worry.

 

"I'm going, even if your... little club, doesn't care enough to help me."

 

She frowned. "Doesn't care enough to help you ? I saved you ! And I didn't do it just so you could go risk your life again immediately !"

 

"I already thanked you !"

 

"Do you think I simply want a thank you ? I want to not have to do the same thing again and again !"

 

Ron rolled his eyes as she opened a door to show a deserted dormitory. They closed the door behind them.

 

"Nobody's asking you to ! I'm just telling you I'm leaving tomorrow morning first thing."

 

Lavender scoffed. "With what food ? What horse ? The Order strives to enforce justice, it's not a charity ! It won't give you means to exact your little crusade !"

 

He glared at her. Saving Hermione was the right thing to do. She had gone through already too much. She had saved him multiple times. She was like a sister to him. There was really no reason not to go. This was enforcing justice.

 

"You don't understand."

 

She threw her hands in the air. "Of course I don't ! I've probably never even lost someone in your mind !"

 

He shook his head. He was aware she probably had. Her life might be even worse than his. Most certainly in fact. Still, he needed to save Hermione. He had not managed to save Harry. But he could still save her.

 

Thinking of Harry brought tears to his eyes. He had succeeded in ignoring his best friend's death before, the heat of the action helped a lot. Now, there was not much more to keep him safe from his most recent memories. The image of Harry, hanging, his bluish face bathed in red surged forward.

 

Red, blue, the metallic smell of blood. His own breathing obstructed by the rope. The feeling of the rope on his skin, too tight, _too tight_. The burning of his lungs.

 

He inhaled sharply and fell sit on one of the cots. He almost did not register Lavender sitting down beside him and embracing him. He could not distinguish the words, but he heard her whispering in his ear. There were tears on his face. He hugged her back.

 

His breath evened as she drew small circles on his back, breath hot against the bare skin of his neck. The smell of sweat clinging to her hair brought him back to reality, outside of the hole adorning Harry's forehead, outside of his own burning lungs, far from his aching throat. Unconsciously he reached out to his throat.

 

He could now understand what she was whispering.

 

"I'm so sorry I killed your friend..."

 

The tears running down his neck were also hers. He hugged her tighter. He was not an idiot. It was not her fault if Harry was dead. She had still managed to shoot a second time after killing him, effectively freeing him. She was much more cold-headed than he was.

 

Still, Ron liked that she was still human and like him, was affected by the death of his best friend. If anything, it only proved him more that she had not done that on purpose.

 

"It's okay," he murmured, burying his nose in her blonde hair.

 

She silently sobbed, doing the same. It felt good, to cry together. He smiled through the tears, through the sobs. For even if Hermione was lost, he was not alone.

 

"If you still want to leave tomorrow, I'll come with you, if I don't, you might end up with another rope around your neck."

 

And he would not be alone when he came looking for her.

 

* * *

 

"Where are we going ?"

 

"Somewhere safe."

 

Hermione snorted. Did he think she was an idiot ?

 

"Somewhere safe ? _With you_ ?"

 

"Maybe it's safe for me and not for you."

 

She frowned. "You're a bounty hunter. I'm pretty sure there's plenty of people wanting to kill you because you killed someone they loved or something."

 

She rationally knew it was not a good idea to be sarcastic with the guy who held her life between his hands. Especially with her being as weak as she currently was. But, they had been riding for hours, in silence. She had cried. She had screamed. Now, she was bored. She wanted to get a reaction out of him. She wanted to escape and fin Ronald.

 

She felt his chest rumble against her back. She tensed. He was laughing. Was that a good sign ?

 

"Yeah, I guess that's true."

 

Hermione did not say another word. She did not like to think of him as human. As capable to laugh genuinely, not the crazy kind she had already heard him give in to.

 

Voldemort led the horse off the dirt road, into the forest. The flora was scarcer, more fit to the sunlight and little water this land seemed to give. The horse's breathing was uneven. It was clearly tired.

 

She was too. The lack of food and water did nothing to lessen her exhaustion. At first, she had tried to put as much distance between his chest and her back but since a few hours, she had not had the energy to care anymore. She could feel the heat of his skin through their garments.

 

In a weird way, she believed she was safe. She hoped Ronald was too.

 

Finally, he stopped the horse and let go of the reins, settling his hands on her waist. He slid off the horse and helped her do the same. She almost immediately fell, her knees trembling but he held her up and sat her next to a big rock. She leaned thankfully against it. She kept her eyes fixed on his back as he took the heavy-looking saddles off the horse.

 

He expertly lit a small fire after having gathered some wood from the forest. She stared at his slender hands in awe. Harry, Ronald and her always had trouble lighting fires. He had done it in almost no time.

 

He quickly took a small pot from one of the saddles and a can of beans. Her mouth watered at the sight. It was not fresh food but she was hungry and anyway, she was used to it by now. He put it to warm on the fire before taking out a pouch and taking a few swigs out of it. She greedily followed the drops of water running from the corners of his mouth to his chin.

 

He eventually acknowledged her and crouched down next to her, holding the pouch out for her to take. Hermione wasted no time in doing so, quickly taking it in her trembling hands and bringing it to her chapped lips. The water felt like heaven against them. Her tongue was immediately drowning in the cool liquid. Her parched throat felt much better. She took as much swigs as she could before handing it back to him.

 

His dark eyes were fixed on her. He took the pouch. The setting sun was casting dancing shadows across his face. The reddish hue of the sun tinted his forehead and bathed the rest of his body in its glow. It moved in a mesmerizing way.

 

He reached out to her face and put his thumb on her lips. She inhaled sharply. Oddly, she did not feel fearful. He wiped the few droplets of water that had escaped her. The almost tender aspect of the gesture confused her.

 

Just as quickly, he turned his back to her. Her lips were burning where he had touched them. She decided not to think on it too hard.

 

"Why did you take me away ? Why not kill me ?"

 

She noticed the way his shoulders tensed. Why did the question bother him ? She was only asking for his plan. There was nothing to be tensed about. Unless he did not have one that is.

 

"Because I didn't want to."

 

He turned to face the fire just as the sun finally set. The flames colored his pale skin. She frowned.

 

"But you wanted to kill Harry and Ron ?"

 

His dark eyes met her. They were determined. She almost shivered. There was however no cruelty in them. But then, there was but very little light.

 

"Yes."

 

"Who killed Harry ?"

 

He shrugged, looking down to see if the beans were ready. "No idea."

 

She leaned forward. How could he have no idea ? She was sure that the shooting had been his plan, only there to torture her more, to shake her to her core.

 

"Really ?" she said, sarcasm clear in her voice. "You didn't seem surprised when the shot was fired."

 

"No, I just immediately fled."

 

She drew back, shoulders colliding with the rock. She could not understand his behavior. She tried to find out if he was lying by observing his face but could not find any signs.

 

"Blame me for trying to kill your friends by selling them to the sheriff, don't blame me for something I didn't do."

 

She did not answer and glanced at the sky. It was getting cloudier. She hoped it would not rain. Even if he fed her, she was still pretty weak. Getting sick could be deadly in those conditions. She shivered.

 

"Eat this, it'll warm you up."

 

Hermione glared at him but took the bowl full of hot beans nonetheless. "I'm not cold."

 

"You keep shivering."

 

"Shivers aren't only caused by cold."

 

He rolled his eyes. "Yes well, eat anyway, you'll need it."

 

She perked up at that, maybe he was willing to give her more information about their destination. Maybe they were going to a city and she could contact Ronald. Or she could escape and look for him.

 

"Why, are we going far ?"

 

He did not answer her, instead digging into his own portion. She did not press him. If she got him mad, he could deprive her of her food and that was not a good thing. She glanced at him. He had a spoon but he had given her no cutlery.

 

"Do you have another spoon ?"

 

He groaned. "I had forgotten how much of a pain in the ass it's to travel with others."

 

"You travel with a group."

 

He sneered before handing the spoon to her. She did not know if he had finished his own beans yet but her stomach growled lightly and convinced her to take the spoon anyway. The first mouthful was pure heaven. She moaned with delight. Her stomach noisily manifested his approval.

 

"Yes, they aren't my prisoners, I don't have to care for them."

 

"So I'm your prisoner ?"

 

He chuckled. "What else could you be ?"

 

She frowned. He was right. It had been pretty clear from the get go. She took a few other mouthfuls of the frugal meal. The beans were not very tasty but they were warm and substantial.

 

"So you're taking me to the Malfoys ?"

 

His dark eyes met hers. She tensed. She knew she had to ask the question but still. The answer frightened her. The mere prospect of getting an answer terrified her actually.

 

His silence was telling. She adverted her eyes, throat suddenly tightening. She was about to put down the still warm bowl when he spoke up, still staring at her. His gaze felt heavy and scorched her skin.

 

"No. No I'm not."

 

She inhaled sharply, glancing back up. His face was blank, but his black eyes were burning. He was the one to turn away this time.

 

"Finish your meal then we'll sleep and at dawn, I'm waking you up."

 

She nodded silently resuming eating. She kept her eyes on the fire. Hermione was afraid she would begin to vomit thanks if she met his eyes again. She did not have to be thankful to him. He had wanted to kill Ronald and Harry.

 

And yet. She was not free. However, she was free of Draco Malfoy.

 

He was saving her.


End file.
